SOLDIERS  THREE 


A  COLLECTION  OF  STORIES 

Setting  forth  Certain  Passages  in  the  Lives  and  Ad 
ventures  of  Privates 

TERENCE  MULVANEY,  STANLEY  ORTHERIS, 
AND  JOHN  LEAROYD 


BY 

RUDYARD  KIPLING 


"We  be  Soldiers  Three  — 
Pttrdonntx  mot,  je  vous  en  prit* 


NEW  YORK 

MANHATTAN   PRESS 
474  WEST  BROADWAY 


CONTENTS 


THE  GOD  FROM  THE  MACHINE  .    .    .    e    3    >      7 
PRIVATE  LEAROYD'S  STORY  .......    22 

THE  BIG  DRUNK  DRAF' .36 

THE  SOLID  MULDOON 52 

WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD  ..•..•••68 
IN  THE  MATTER  OF  A  PRIVATE  ......    93 

BLACK  JACK 109 

ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 141 


2234732 


PREFACE 


THIS  small  book  contains,  for  the  most 
part,  the  further  adventures  of  my  esteemed 
friends  and  sometime  allies,  Privates  Mul- 
vaney,  Ortheris,  and  Learoyd,  who  have 
already  been  introduced  to  the  public. 
Those  anxious  to  know  how  the  three  most 
cruelly  maltreated  a  member  of  Parliament ; 
how  Ortheris  went  mad  for  a  space;  how 
Mulvaney  and  some  friends  took  the  town 
of  Lungtungpen;  and  how  little  Jhansi 
McKenna  helped  the  regiment  when  it  was 
smitten  with  cholera,  must  refer  to  a  book 
called  "Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills."  I 
would  have  reprinted  the  four  stories  in  this 
place,  but  Dinah  Shadd  says  that  "  tearin' 
the  tripes  out  av  a  book  wid  a  pictur'  on  the 
back,  all  to  make  Terence  proud  past  rea- 
sonin',"  is  wasteful,  and  Mulvaney  himself 
says  that  he  prefers  to  have  his  fame  "  dish- 
persed  most  notoriously  in  sev'ril  volumes." 
I  can  only  hope  that  his  desire  will  be 
gratified. 

RUDYARD  KIPLING. 


THE  GOD   FROM  THE  MA- 
CHINE 


Hit  a  man  an'  help  a  woman  an'  ye  can't  be  far 
wrong  any  ways. — Maxims  of  Private  Mulvaney. 

THE  Inexpressibles  gave  a  ball.  They 
borrowed  a  seven-pounder  from  the  Gun- 
ners, and  wreathed  it  with  laurels,  and  made 
the  dancing-floor  plate-glass,  and  provided 
a  supper,  the  like  of  which  had  never  been 
eaten  before,  and  set  two  sentries  at  the 
door  of  the  room  to  hold  the  trays  and 
programme  cards.  My  friend,  Private 
Mulvaney,  was  one  of  the  sentries,  because 
he  was  the  tallest  man  in  the  regiment. 
When  the  dance  was  fairly  started  the  sen- 
tries were  released,  and  Private  Mulvaney 
fled  to  curry  favor  with  the  mess  sergeant 
in  charge  of  the  supper.  Whether  the  mess 
sergeant  gave  or  Mulvaney  took,  I  can  not 
say.  All  that  I  am  certain  of  is  that,  at 
suppertime,  I  found  Mulvaney  with  Pri- 
vate Ortheris,  two-thirds  of  a  ham,  a  loaf 
of  bread,  half  a  pate  de  foie  gras,  and  two 
magnums  of  champagne,  sitting  on  the  roof 


8  Soldiers  Three 

of  my  carriage.  As  I  came  up  I  heard  him 
saying: 

"  Praise  be  a  danst  doesn't  come  as  often 
as  ord'ly-room,  or,  by  this  an'  that,  Orth'ris, 
me  son,  I  wud  be  the  dishgrace  av  the  rig'- 
mint  instid  av  the  brightest  jool  in  uts 
crown." 

"  Hand  the  colonel's  pet  noosince,"  said 
Ortheris,  who  was  a  Londoner.  "  But  wot 
makes  you  curse  your  rations?  This  'ere 
fizzy  stuff's  good  enough." 

"  Stuff,  ye  oncivilized  pagin!  Tis  cham- 
pagne we're  dhrinkin'  now.  Tisn't  that  I 
am  set  ag'in.  'Tis  the  quare  stuff  wid  the 
little  bits  av  black  leather  in  it  I  mis- 
doubt I  will  be  distressin'ly  sick  wid  it  in 
the  mornin'.  Fwhat  is  ut?" 

"  Goose  liver,"  I  said,  climbing  on  the 
top  of  the  carriage,  for  I  knew  that  it  was 
better  to  sit  out  with  Mulvaney  than  to 
dance  many  dances. 

"  Goose  liver,  is  ut? "  said  Mulvaney. 
"  Faith,  I'm  thinkin'  thim  that  makes  it  wud 
do  betther  to  cut  up  the  colonel.  He  car- 
ries a  power  av  liver  undher  his  right  ar- 
rum  whin  the  days  are  warm  an'  the  nights 
chill.  He  wud  give  thim  tons  an'  tons  av 
liver.  'Tis  he  sez  so.  '  I'm  all  liver  to-day,' 
sez  he ;  an'  wid  that  he  ordhers  me  ten  days 
C.  B.  for  as  moild  a  dhrink  as  iver  a  good 
sodger  tuk  betune  his  teeth." 

"That  was  when  'e  wanted  for  to  wash 


The  God  From  the  Machine    9 

'isself  in  the  fort  ditch,"  Ortheris  explained. 
"  Said  there  was  too  much  beer  in  the  bar- 
rack water-butts  for  a  God-fearing  man. 
You  was  lucky  in  gittin'  orf  with  wot  you 
did,  Mulvaney." 

"You  say  so?  Now  I'm  pershuaded  I 
was  cruel  hard  trated,  seein'  fwhat  I've  done 
for  the  likes  av  him  in  the  days  whin  my 
eyes  were  wider  opin  than  they  are  now. 
Man  alive,  for  the  colonel  to  whip  me  on 
the  peg  in  that  way!  Me  that  have  saved 
the  repitation  av  a  ten  times  better  man 
than  him!  Twas  ne-farious,  an'  that  manes 
a  power  av  evil ! " 

"  Never  mind  the  nefariousness,"  I  said. 
"Whose  reputation  did  you  save?" 

"  More's  the  pity,  'twasn't  my  own,  but 
I  tuk  more  trouble  wid  ut  than  av  ut  was. 
Twas  just  my  way,  messin'  wid  fwhat  was 
no  business  av  mine.  Hear  now!"  He 
settled  himself  at  ease  on  the  top  of  the 
carriage.  *'  I'll  tell  you  all  about  ut.  Av 
coorse  I  will  name  no  names,  for  there's 
wan  that's  an  orf'cer's  lady  now,  that  was 
in  ut,  and  no  more  will  I  name  places,  for 
a  man  is  thracked  by  a  place." 

"Eyah!"  said  Ortheris,  lazily,  "but  this 
is  a  mixed  story  wot's  comin'." 

"Wanst  upon  a  time,  as  the  childer- 
books  say,  I  was  a  recruity." 

"Was  you,  though?"  said  Ortheris  j 
*  now  that's  extryordinary !  " 


10  Soldiers  Three 

"  Orth'ris,"  said  Mulvaney,  "  av  you  opin 
thim  lips  av  yours  again,  I  will,  savin'  your 
presince,  sorr,  take  you  by  the  slack  av 
your  trousers  an'  heave  you." 

"I'm  mum,"  said  Ortheris.  "Wot  'ap- 
pened  when  you  was  a  recruity?  " 

"  I  was  a  betther  recruity  than  you  iver 
was  or  will  be,  but  that's  neither  here  nor 
there.  Thin  I  became  a  man,  an'  the  divil 
of  a  man  I  was  fifteen  years  ago.  They 
called  me  Buck  Mulvaney  in  thim  days,  an', 
begad,  I  tuk  a  woman's  eye.  I  did  that! 
Ortheris,  ye  scrub,  fwhat  are  ye  sniggerin' 
at?  Do  you  misdoubt  me?" 

"Devil  a  doubt!"  said  Ortheris;  "but 
I've  'card  summat  like  that  before." 

Mulvaney  dismissed  the  impertinence 
with  a  lofty  wave  of  his  hand  and  con- 
tinued: 

"  An'  the  orf'cers  av  the  rig'mint  I  was 
in  in  thim  days  was  orf'cers  —  gran'  men, 
wid  a  manner  on  'em,  an'  a  way  wid  'em 
«>uch  as  is  not  made  these  days  —  all  but 
wan  —  wan  o'  the  capt'ns.  A  bad  dhrill, 
a  wake  voice,  an'  a  limp  leg  —  thim  three 
things  are  the  signs  av  a  bad  man.  You 
.bear  that  in  your  hid,  Orth'ris,  me  son. 

"An'  the  colonel  av  the  rig'mint  had  a 
daughter  —  wan  av  thim  lamb-like,  bleat- 
in',  pick-me-up-an'-carry-me-or-I'll-die  gurls 
such  as  was  made  for  the  natural  prey  av 
men  like  the  capt'n  who  was  iverlastin'  pay« 


The  God  From  the  Machine   1 1 

in'  coort  to  her,  though  the  colonel  he  said 
time  an'  over, '  Kape  out  av  the  brute's  way, 
my  dear.'  But  he  niver  had  the  heart  for 
to  send  her  away  from  the  throuble,  bein' 
as  he  was  a  widower,  an'  she  their  wan 
child." 

"  Stop  a  minute,  Mulvaney,"  said  I ; 
"  how  in  the  world  did  you  come  to  know 
these  things?" 

"  How  did  I  come?  "  said  Mulvaney,  with 
a  scornful  grunt ;  "  bekase  I'm  turned  durin' 
the  quane's  pleasure  to  a  lump  av  wood, 
lookin'  out  straight  forninst  me,  wid  a  — 
a  —  candelabbrum  in  my  hand,  for  you  to 
pick  your  cards  out  av,  must  I  not  see  nor 
feel?  Av  coorse  I  du!  Up  my  back,  an' 
in  my  boots,  an'  in  the  short  hair  av  the 
neck  —  that's  where  I  kape  my  eyes  whin 
I'm  on  duty  an'  the  reg'lar  wans  are  fixed. 
Know!  Take  my  word  for  it,  sorr,  ivry- 
thing  an'  a  great  dale  more  is  known  in  a 
rig'mint;  or  fwhat  wud  be  the  use  av  a  mess 
sargint,  or  a  sargint's  wife  doin'  wet-nurse 
to  the  major's  baby?  To  reshume.  He 
was  a  bad  dhrill,  was  this  capt'n  —  a  rotten 
bad  dhrill  —  an'  whin  first  I  ran  me  eye 
over  him,  I  sez  to  myself:  '  My  militia  ban- 
tam ! '  I  sez,  '  my  cock  of  a  Gosport  dung- 
hill ' —  'twas  from  Portsmouth  he  came  to 
us  — '  there's  combs  to  be  cut,'  sez  I,  '  an' 
by  the  grace  av  God,  'tis  Terence  Mulvaney 
will  cut  thim.' 


12  Soldiers  Three 

"So  he  wint  menowderin',  and  nrinan- 
derin',  an'  blandandhering  roun'  an'  aboul 
the  colonel's  daughter,  an'  she,  poor  inno 
cint,  lookin'  at  him  like  a  comm'ssariat  bul- 
lock looks  at  the  comp'ny  cook.  He'd  a 
dhirty  little  scrub  av  a  black  mustache,  an1 
he  twisted  an'  turned  ivry  wurrd  he  used 
as  ave  he  found  ut  too  sweet  for  to  spit  out. 
Eyah!  He  was  a  tricky  man  an'  a  liar  by 
natur'.  Some  are  born  so.  He  was  wan. 
I  knew  he  was  over  his  belt  in  money  bor- 
rowed from  natives;  besides  a  lot  av  other 
mathers  which,  in  regard  to  your  presince, 
sorr,  I  will  oblitherate.  A  little  av  fwhat 
I  knew,  the  colonel  knew,  for  he  wud  have 
none  av  him,  an'  that,  I'm  thinkin',  by 
fwhat  happened  aftherwards,  the  capt'n 
knew. 

"  Wan  day,  bein'  mortial  idle,  or  they 
wud  never  ha'  thried  ut,  the  rig'mint  gave 
amshure  theatricals  —  orf'cers  an'  orf'cers! 
ladies.  You've  seen  the  likes  time  an'  agin, 
sorr,  an'  poor  fun  'tis  for  them  that  sit  in 
the  back  row  an'  stamp  wid  their  boots  for 
the  honor  av  the  rig'mint.  I  was  told  ofl 
for  to  shif  the  scenes,  haulin'  up  this  an' 
draggin'  down  that.  Light  work  ut  was, 
wid  lashins  av  beer  and  the  gurl  that 
dhressed  the  orf'cers'  ladies  .  .  .  but  she 
died  in  Aggra  twelve  years  gone,  an'  my 
tongue's  gettin'  the  betther  av  me.  They 
was  actin'  a  play  thing  called  *  Sweethearts,' 


The  God  From  the  Machine   13 

which  you  may  ha'  heard  av,  an'  the  col- 
onel's daughter  she  was  a  lady's-maid.  The 
capt'n  was  a  boy  called  Broom  —  Spread 
Broom  was  his  name  in  the  play.  Thin  I 
saw  —  ut  come  out  in  the  actin' — fwhat  I 
niver  saw  before,  an'  that  was  that  he  was 
no  gentleman.  They  was  too  much  to- 
gether, thim  two,  a-whisperin'  behind  the 
scenes  I  shifted,  an'  some  av  what  they  said 
I  heard;  for  I  was  death  —  blue  death  an' 
ivy  —  on  the  combcuttin'.  He  was  iver- 
lastin'ly  oppressing  her  to  fall  in  wid  some 
sneakin'  schame  av  his,  an'  she  was  thryiw' 
to  stand  out  against  him,  but  not  as  though 
she  was  set  in  her  will.  I  wonder  now  in 
thim  days  that  my  ears  did  not  grow  a  yard 
on  me  head  wid  list'nin'.  But  I  looked 
straight  forninst  me,  an'  hauled  up  this  an' 
dragged  down  that,  such  as  was  my  duty, 
an'  the  orf'cers'  ladies  sez  one  to  another, 
thinkin'  I  was  out  av  listen-reach :  '  Fwhat 
an  obligin'  young  man  is  this  Corp'ril  Mul- 
vaney! '  I  was  a  corp'ril  then.  I  was  re- 
juced  aftherward,  but,  no  matther,  I  was  a 
corp'ril  wanst. 

"  Well,  this  '  Sweethearts' '  business  wint 
on  like  most  amshure  theatricals,  an'  bar- 
rin'  fwhat  I  suspicioned,  'twasn't  till  the 
dhress-rehearsal  that  I  saw  for  certain  that 
thim  two  —  he  the  blackguard,  an'  she  no 
wiser  than  she  should  ha'  been  —  had  put 
up  an  evasion." 


14  Soldiers  Three 

"A  what?"  said  I. 

"E-vasion!  Fwhat  you  lorruds  an* 
ladies  call  an  elopement.  E-vasion  I  calls 
it,  bekaze,  exceptin'  whin  'tis  right  an'  nat- 
ural an'  proper,  'tis  wrong  an'  dhirty  to 
steal  a  man's  wan  child  not  knowin'  her 
own  mind.  There  was  a  sargint  in  the 
comm'ssariat  who  set  my  face  upon  e-va- 
sions.  I'll  tell  you  about  that " 

"  Stick  to  the  blommin'  captains,  Mul- 
vaney,"  said  Ortheris;  "comm'ssariat  sar- 
gints  is  low." 

Mulvaney  accepted  the  emendation  and 
went  on: 

"  Now,  I  knew  that  the  colonel  was  no 
fool,  any  more  than  me,  for  I  was  hild  the 
smartest  man  in  the  rig'mint,  an'  the  col- 
onel was  the  best  orfcer  commandin'  in 
Asia;  so  fwhat  he  said  an'  I  said  was  a  mor- 
tial  truth.  We  knew  that  the  capt'n  was 
bad,  but,  for  reasons  which  I  have  already 
oblitherated,  I  knew  more  than  me  colonel. 
I  wud  ha'  rolled  out  his  face  wid  the  butt 
av  my  gun  before  permittin'  av  him  to  steal 
the  gurl.  Saints  knew  av  he  wud  ha'  mar- 
ried her,  and  av  he  didn't  she  wud  be  in 
great  tormint,  an'  the  divil  av  what  you, 
sorr,  call  a  '  scandal.'  But  I  niver  sthfuck, 
niver  raised  me  hand  on  my  shuperior  orf- 
cer; an'  that  was  a  merricle  now  I  come  to 
considher  it." 

"Mulvaney,  the  dawn's  risiu',"  said  Or- 


The  God  From  the  Machine    15 

theris,  "  an'  we're  no  nearer  'ome  than  we 
was  at  the  beginnin'.  Lend  me  your  pouch. 
Mine's  all  dust." 

Mulvaney  pitched  his  pouch  across,  and 
he  filled  his  pipe  afresh. 

"  So  the  dhress-rehearsal  came  to  an  end, 
an',  bekaze  I  was  curious,  I  stayed  behind 
whin  the  scene-shiftin'  was  ended,  an'  I 
shud  ha'  been  in  barricks,  lyin'  as  flat  as  a 
toad  under  a  painted  cottage  thing.  They 
was  talkin'  in  whispers,  an'  she  was  shiver- 
in'  an'  gaspin'  like  a  fresh-hukked  fish. 
'  Are  you  sure  you've  got  the  hang  av  the 
manewvers?'  sez  he,  or  wurrds  to  that  ef- 
fec',  as  the  coort-martial  sez.  '  Sure  as 
death,'  sez  she,  '  but  I  misdoubt  'tis  cruel 
hard  on  my  father.'  '  Damn  your  father/ 
sez  he,  or  any  ways  'twas  fwhat  he  thought, 
'  the  arrangement  is  as  clear  as  mud.  Jungi 
will  drive  the  carri'ge  afther  all's  over,  an' 
you  come  to  the  station,  cool  an'  aisy,  in 
time  for  the  two-o'clock  thrain,  where  I'll 
be  wid  your  kit.'  '  Faith,'  thinks  I  to  my- 
self, '  thin  there's  a  ayah  in  the  business  tu! ' 

"  A  powerful  bad  thing  is  a  ayah.  Don't 
you  niver  have  any  thruck  wid  wan.  Thin 
he  began  sootherin'  her,  an'  all  the  orf'cers 
an'  orf'cers'  ladies  left,  an'  they  put  out  the 
lights.  To  explain  the  theory  av  the 
flight,  as  they  sat  at  muskthry,  you  must 
understand  that  afther  this  '  Sweethearts' ' 
nonsinse  was  ended,  there  was  another  lit- 


1 6  Soldiers  Three 

tie  bit  av  a  play  called  '  Couples  ' —  some 
kind  av  couple  or  another.  The  gurl  was 
actin'  in  this,  but  not  the  man.  I  suspi- 
cioned  he'd  go  to  the  station  wid  the  gurl's 
kit  at  the  end  av  the  first  piece.  'Twas  the 
kit  that  flusthered  me,  for  I  knew  for  a 
capt'n  to  go  trapesing  about  the  inipire 
wid  the  Lord  knew  what  av  a  truso  on 
his  arrum  was  nefarious,  an'  wud  be  worse 
than  easin'  the  flag,  so  far  as  the  talk 
aftherward  wint." 

"'Old  on,  Mulvaney.  Wot's  truso?" 
said  Ortheris. 

"  You're  an  oncivilized  man,  me  son. 
Whin  a  gurl's  married,  all  her  kit  an'  'cou- 
trements  are  truso,  which  manes  weddin'- 
portion.  An'  'tis  the  same  whin  she's 
runnin'  away,  even  wid  the  biggest  black- 
guard on  the  arrmy  list. 

"  So  I  made  my  plan  av  campaign.  The 
colonel's  house  was  a  good  two  miles 
away.  '  Dennis,'  sez  I  to  my  color-sargint, 
'av  you  love  me  lend  me  your  kyart,  for 
me  heart  is  bruk  an'  me  feet  is  sore  wid 
trampin'  to  and  from  this  foolishness  at 
the  Gaff.'  An'  Dennis  lent  ut,  wid  a  ram- 
pin',  stampin'  red  stallion  in  the  shafts. 
Whin  they  was  all  settled  down  to  their 
'  Sweethearts '  for  the  first  scene,  which 
was  a  long  wan,  I  slips  outside  and  into 
the  kyart.  Mother  av  Hivin!  but  I  made 
that  hcrse  walk,  an'  we  came  into  the 


The  God  From  the  Machine    17 

colonel's  compound  as  the  divil  wint 
through  Athlone  —  in  standin'  leps.  There 
was  no  one  there  excipt  the  servints,  an' 
I  wint  round  to  the  back  an'  found  the 
girl's  ayah. 

" '  Ye  black  brazen  Jezebel,'  sez  I, 
'  sellin'  your  masther's  honor  for  five 
rupees  —  pack  up  all  the  Miss  Sahib's  kit 
an'  look  slippy!  Capt'n  Sahib's  order,' 
sez  I ;  '  going  to  the  station  we  are,'  I  sez, 
an'  wid  that  I  laid  my  finger  to  my  nose 
an'  looked  the  schamin'  sinner  I  was. 

" '  Bote  acchy,'  says  she ;  so  I  knew  she 
was  in  the  business,  an'  I  piled  up  all  the 
sweet  talk  I'd  iver  learned  in  the  bazaars 
on  to  this  she-bullock,  an'  prayed  av  her 
to  put  all  the  quick  she  knew  into  the 
thing.  While  she  packed,  I  stud  outside 
an'  sweated,  for  I  was  wanted  for  to  shif 
the  second  scene.  I  tell  you,  a  young 
gurl's  e-vasion  manes  as  much  baggage  as 
a  rig'mint  on  the  line  av  march!  'Saints 
help  Dennis's  springs,'  thinks  I,  as  I  bun- 
dled the  stuff  into  the  thrap,  '  for  I'll  have 


no  mercy 


'  I'm  comin'  too,'  says  the  ayah. 

"'No,  you  don't/  sez  I,  Mater  —  pechyl 
You  baito  where  you  are.  I'll  pechy  come 
an'  bring  you  sart,  along  with  me,  you 
mauridin' ' —  niver  mind  fwhat  I  called  her. 

"Thin  I  wint  for  the  Gaff,  an'  by  the 
special  ordher  av  Providence,  for  I  was 


1 8  Soldiers  Three 

doin'  a  good  work  you  will  ondersthand, 
Dennis's  springs  hild  toight.  '  Now,  whin 
the  capt'n  goes  for  that  kit/  thinks  I,  '  he'll 
be  throubled.'  At  the  end  av  '  Sweet- 
hearts '  off  the  capt'n  runs  in  his  kyart  to 
the  colonel's  house,  an'  I  sits  down  on  the 
steps  and  laughs.  Wanst  an'  again  I 
slipped  in  to  see  how  the  little  piece  was 
goin',  an'  whin  nt  was  near  endin'  I  stepped 
out  all  among  the  carriages  an'  sings  out 
very  softly,  '  Jungi ! '  Wid  that  a  carr'ge 
began  to  move,  an'  I  waved  to  the  dhriver. 
'Hitherao!'  sez  I,  an'  he  hitheraoed  till  I 
judged  he  was  at  proper  distance,  an'  thin 
I  tuk  him,  fair  an'  square  betune  the  eyes, 
all  I  knew  for  good  or  bad,  an'  he  dhropped 
wid  a  guggle  like  the  canteen  beer-engine 
whin  ut's  runnin'  low.  Thin  I  ran  to  the 
kyart  an'  tuk  out  all  the  kit  an'  piled  it  into 
the  carr'ige,  the  sweat  runnin'  down  my 
face  in  dhrops.  '  Go  home,'  sez  I  to  the 
sais ;  '  you'll  find  a  man  close  here.  Very 
sick  he  is.  Take  him  away,  an'  av  you 
iver  say  wan  wurrd  about  fwhat  you've 
dekkoed,  I'll  marrow  you  till  your  own  wife 
won't  sumjao  who  you  are! '  Thin  I  heard 
the  stampin'  av  feet  at  the  ind  av  the  play, 
an'  I  ran  in  to  let  down  the  curtain.  Whin 
they  all  came  out  the  gurl  thried  to  hide 
herself  behind  wan  av  the  pillars,  an'  sez 
'Jungi'  in  a  voice  that  wudn't  ha'  scared 
a  hare.  I  run  over  to  Jungi's  carr'ige  an' 


The  God  From  the  Machine    19 

tuk  up  the  lousy  old  horse-blanket  on  the 
box,  wrapped  my  head  an'  the  rest  av  me 
in  ut,  an'  dhrove  up  to  where  she  was. 

"  '  Miss  Sahib/  sez  I ;  '  going  to  the  sta- 
tion. Captain  Sahib's  order ! '  an'  widout 
a  sign  she  jumped  in  all  among  her  own 
kit. 

"  I  laid  to  an'  dhruv  like  steam  to  the 
colonel's  house  before  the  colonel  was 
there,  an'  she  screamed  an'  I  thought  she 
was  goin'  off.  Out  comes  the  ayah,  saying 
all  sorts  av  things  about  the  capt'n  havin' 
come  for  the  kit  an'  gone  to  the  station. 

" '  Take  out  the  luggage,  you  divil,'  sez 
I,  '  or  I'll  murther  you ! ' 

"  The  lights  av  the  thraps  people  comin* 
from  the  Gaff  was  showin'  acrost  the  pa- 
rade-ground, an'  by  this  an'  that,  the  way 
thim  two  women  worked  at  the  bundles 
an'  thrunks  was  a  caution!  I  was  dyin' 
to  help,  but,  seein'  I  didn't  want  to  be 
known,  I  sat  wid  the  blanket  roun'  me  an' 
coughed  an'  thanked  the  saints  there  was 
no  moon  that  night. 

"  Whin  all  was  in  the  house  again,  I 
niver  asked  for  bukshish  but  dhruv  tremen- 
jus  in  the  opp'site  way  from  the  other 
carr'ige  an'  put  out  my  lights.  Presintly, 
I  saw  a  naygur  man  wallowin'  in  the  road. 
I  slipped  down  before  I  got  to  him,  for  I 
suspicioned  Providence  was  wid  me  all 
through  that  night.  'Twas  Jungi,  his  nose 


2o  Soldiers  Three 

smashed  in  flat,  all  dumb  sick  as  you 
please.  Dennis's  man  must  have  tilted  him 
out  av  the  thrap.  Whin  he  came  to, 
*  Hutt ! '  sez  I,  but  he  began  to  howl. 

" '  You  black  lump  av  dirt/  I  sez,  '  is 
this  the  way  you  dhrive  your  gharri?  That 
tikka  has  been  owin'  an'  fereowin'  all  over 
the  bloomin'  country  this  whole  bloomin' 
night,  an'  you  as  mut-walla  as  Davey's  sow. 
Get  up,  you  hog! '  sez  I,  louder,  for  I  heard 
the  wheels  av  a  thrap  in  the  dark ;  '  get  up 
an'  light  your  lamps,  or  you'll  be  run  into ! ' 
This  was  on  the  road  to  the  railway  station. 

' '  Fwhat  the  divil's  this?'  sez  the  cap- 
t'n's  voice  in  the  dhark,  an'  I  could  judge 
he  was  in  a  lather  av  rage. 

"  '  Gharri  dhriver  here,  dhrunk,  sorr,'  sez 
I;  'I've  found  his  gharri  sthrayin'  about 
cantonmints,  an'  now  I've  found  him.' 

"Oh!'  sez  the  capt'n;  '  f what's  his 
name?'  I  stooped  down  an'  pretended  to 
listen. 

'  He  sez  his  name's  Jungi,  sorr,'  sez  I. 

' '  Hould  my  harse,'  sez  the  capt'n  to  his 
man,  an'  wid  that  he  gets  down  wid  the 
whip  an'  lays  into  Jungi,  just  mad  wid  rage 
an'  swearin'  like  the  scut  he  was. 

"  I  thought,  afther  awhile,  he  wud  kill 
the  man,  so  I  sez,  '  Stop,  sir,  or  you'll  mur- 
dher  him ! '  That  dhrew  all  his  fire  on  me, 
an'  he  cursed  me  into  blazes,  an'  out  again. 
I  stud  to  attenshin  an'  saluted :  '  Sorr,'  sez 


The  God  From  the  Machine    21 

I,  '  av  ivry  man  in  this  wurruld  had  his 
rights,  I'm  thinking  that  more  than  wan 
wud  be  beaten  to  a  shakin'  jelly  for  this 
night's  work  —  that  never  came  off  at  all, 
sorr,  as  you  see? '  '  Now,'  thinks  I  to  my- 
self, '  Terence  Mulvaney,  you've  cut  your 
own  throat,  for  he'll  sthrike,  an'  you'll 
knock  him  down  for  the  good  av  his  sowl 
an'  your  own  iverlastin'  dishgrace ! ' 

"  But  the  capt'n  never  said  a  single 
wurrd.  He  choked  where  he  stud,  an'  thin 
he  wint  into  his  thrap  widout  sayin'  good* 
night,  an'  I  wint  back  to  barricks." 

"And  then?"  said  Ortheris  and  I 
together. 

"That  was  all,"  said  Mulvaney;  "  niver 
another  wurrd  did  I  hear  av  the  whole 
thing.  All  I  know  was  that  there  was  no 
e-vasion,  an'  that  was  fwhat  I  wanted. 
Now,  I  put  ut  to  you,  sorr,  is  ten  days' 
C.  B.  a  fit  an'  a  proper  tratement  for  a  man 
who  has  behaved  as  me?  " 

"  Well,  any'ow,"  said  Ortheris,  "  tweren't 
this  'ere  colonel's  daughter,  an'  you  was 
blazin'  copped  when  you  tried  to  wash  in 
the  fort  ditch." 

"That,"  said  Mulvaney,  finishing  the 
champagne,  "  is  a  shuparfluous  an'  imper- 
t'nint  observation." 


PRIVATE  LEAROYD'S  STORY 


And  he   told  a  tale.— Chronicles  of  Guatama 
Buddha. 

FAR  from  the  haunts  of  company  officers 
who  insist  upon  kit-inspections,  far  from 
keen-nosed  sergeants  who  sniff  the  pipe 
stuffed  into  the  bedding-roll,  two  miles 
from  the  tumult  of  the  barracks,  lies  the 
Trap.  It  is  an  old  well,  shadowed  by  a 
twisted  pipal-tree  and  fenced  with  high 
grass.  Here,  in  the  years  gone  by,  did 
Private  Ortheris  establish  his  depot  and 
menagerie  for  such  possessions,  living 
and  dead,  as  could  not  safely  be  introduced 
to  the  barrack-room.  Here  were  gathered 
Houdin  pullets,  and  fox-terriers  of  un- 
doubted pedigree  and  more  than  doubtful 
ownership,  for  Ortheris  was  an  inveterate 
poacher  and  pre-eminent  among  a  regi- 
ment of  neat-handed  dog-stealers. 

Never  again  will  the  long  lazy  evenings 
return  wherein  Ortheris,  whistling  softly, 
moved  surgeon-wise  among  the  captives  of 
his  craft  at  the  bottom  of  the  well;  when 


Private  Learoyd's  Story       23 

Learoyd  sat  in  the  niche,  giving  sage  coun- 
sel on  the  management  of  "  tykes,"  and 
Mulvaney,  from  the  crook  of  the  overhang- 
ing pipal,  waved  his  enormous  boots  in 
benediction  above  our  heads,  delighting  us 
with  tales  of  love  and  war,  and  strange 
experiences  of  cities  and  men. 

Ortheris  —  landed  at  last  in  the  "  little 
stuff  bird-shop "  for  which  your  soul 
longed;  Learoyd  —  back  again  in  the 
smoky,  stone-ribbed  north,  amid  the  clang 
of  the  Bradford  looms;  Mulvaney  —  griz- 
zled, tender,  and  very  wise  Ulysses,  swel- 
tering on  the  earth-work  of  a  Central  India 
line  —  judge  if  I  have  forgotten  old  days 
in  the  Trap ! 

Orth'ris  as  allus  thinks  he  knaws  more 
than  other  foaks,  said  she  wasn't  a  real 
laady,  but  nobbut  a  Hewrasian.  I  don't 
gainsay  as  her  culler  was  a  bit  doosky  like. 
But  she  was  a  laady.  Why,  she  rode  iv 
a  carriage,  an'  good  'osses,  too,  an'  her 
'air  was  that  oiled  as  you  could  see  your 
faice  in  it,  an'  she  wore  di'mond  rings  an' 
a  goold  chain,  an'  silk  an*  satin  dresses  as 
mun  'a'  cost  a  deal,  for  it  isn't  a  cheap  shop 
as  keeps  enough  o'  one  pattern  to  fit  a 
figure  like  hers.  Her  name  was  Mrs.  De 
Sussa,  an' t'  waay  I  coom  to  be  acquainted 
wi'  her  was  along  of  our  colonel's  laady 's 
dog  Rip. 


24  Soldiers  Three 

I've  seen  a  vast  o'  dogs,  but  Rip  was  t' 
prettiest  picter  of  a  cliver  fox-tarrier  'at  iver 
I  set  eyes  on.  He  could  do  owt  you  like 
but  speeak,  an'  t'  colonel's  laady  set  more 
store  by  him  than  if  he  had  been  a  Chris- 
tian. She  hed  bairns  of  her  awn,  but  they 
was  i'  England,  and  Rip  seemed  to  get 
all  t'  coddlin'  and  pettin'  as  belonged  to  a 
bairn  by  good  right. 

But  Rip  were  a  bit  on  a  rover,  an'  hed  a 
habit  o'  breakin'  out  o'  barricks  like,  and 
trottin'  round  t'  plaice  as  if  he  were  t'  can- 
tonment magistrate  coom  round  inspectin'. 
The  colonel  leathers  him  once  or  twice, 
but  Rip  didn't  care,  an'  kept  on  gooin'  his 
rounds,  wi'  his  taail  a-waggin'  as  if  he  were 
flag-signalin'  to  t'  world  at  large  'at  he  was 
"  gettin'  on  nicely,  thank  yo',  and  how's 
yo'sen?"  An'  then  t'  colonel,  as  was  noa 
sort  of  a  hand  wi'  a  dog,  tees  him  oop.  A 
real  clipper  of  a  dog,  an'  it's  noa  wonder 
yon  laady,  Mrs.  De  Sussa,  should  tek  a 
fancy  tiv  him.  Theer's  one  o'  t'  Ten  Com- 
mandments says  yo'  maun't  cuvvet  your 
neebor's  ox  nor  his  jackass,  but  it  doesn't 
say  nowt  about  his  tarrier-dogs,  an'  happen 
thot's  t'  reason  why  Mrs.  De  Sussa  cuv- 
veted  Rip,  thou'  she  went  to  church  reg'lar 
along  wi'  her  husband,  who  was  so  mich 
darker  'at  if  he  hedn't  such  a  good  coaat 
tiv  his  back  yo'  might  ha'  called  him  a 
black  man,  and  nut  tell  a  lee  nawther, 


Private  Learoyd's  Story       25 

They  said  he  addled  his  brass  i'  jute,  an1 
he'd  a  rare  lot  on  it. 

Well,  you  seen,  when  they  teed  Rip  up, 
t'  poor  awd  lad  didn't  enjoy  very  good 
'elth.  So  t'  colonel's  laady  sends  for  me 
as  'ad  a  naame  for  bein'  knowledgeable 
about  a  dog,  an'  axes  what's  ailin'  wi'  him. 

"  Why,"  says  I,  "  he's  getten  t'  mopes, 
an'  what  he  wants  is  libbaty  an'  coompany 
like  t'  rest  on  us ;  wal  happens  a  rat  or  two 
'ud  liven  him  oop.  It's  low,  mum,"  says 
I,  "  is  rats,  but  it's  t'  nature  of  a  dog;  an' 
soa's  cnttin'  round  an'  meeting  another 
dog  or  two  an'  passin'  t'  time  o'  day,  an* 
hevvin'  a  bit  of  a  turn-up  wi'  him  like  a 
Christian." 

So  she  says  her  dog  maunt  niver  fight 
an'  noa  Christians  iver  fought. 

"Then  what's  a  soldier  for?  "  says  I;  an* 
I  explains  to  her  t'  contrairy  qualities  of  a 
dog,  'at,  when  yo'  coom  to  think  on't,  is 
one  o'  t'  curusest  things  as  is.  For  they 
larn  to  behave  theirsens  like  gentlemen 
born,  fit  for  t'  iost  o'  coompany  —  they  tell 
me  t'  widdy  herself  is  fond  of  a  good  dog 
and  knaws  one  when  she  sees  it  as  well  as 
onnybody:  then  on  t'  other  hand  a-tewin' 
round  after  cats  an'  gettin'  mixed  oop  i' 
all  manners  o'  blackguardly  street  rows, 
an'  killin'  rats,  an'  fightin'  like  divils. 

T'  colonel's  laady  says:  "  Well,  Learoyd, 
I  doan't  agree  wi'  you,  but  you're  right  in 


26  Soldiers  Three 

a  way  o'  speakin',  an'  I  should  like  yo*  to 
tek  Rip  out  a-walkin'  wi'  you  sometimes; 
but  yo'  maunt  let  him  fight,  nor  chase  cats, 
nor  do  nowt  'orrid :  "  an'  them  was  her  very 
wo'ds. 

Soa  Rip  an'  me  gooes  out  a-walkin'  o' 
evenin's,  he  bein'  a  dog  as  did  credit  tiv 
a  man,  an'  I  catches  a  lot  o'  rats  an'  we 
hed  a  bit  of  a  match  on  in  an  awd  dry 
swimmin'-bath  at  back  o'  t'  cantonments, 
an'  it  was  none  so  long  afore  he  was  as 
bright  as  a  button  again.  He  hed  a  way  o' 
fiyin'  at  them  big  yaller  pariah  dogs  as  if 
he  was  a  harrow  off  an  a  bow,  an'  though 
his  weight  were  nowt,  he  tuk  'em  so  sud- 
dint-like  they  rolled  over  like  skittles  in  a 
halley,  an'  when  they  coot  he  stretched 
after  'em  as  if  he  were  rabbit-runnin'. 
Saanie  with  cats  when  he  cud  get  t'  cat 
agaate  o'  runnin'. 

One  evenin',  him  an'  me  was  trespassin' 
ovver  a  compound  wall  after  one  of  them 
mongooses  'at  he'd  started,  an'  we  was 
busy  grubbin'  round  a  prickle-bush,  an' 
when  we  looks  up  there  was  Mrs.  De  Sussa 
wi'  a  parasel  ovver  her  shoulder,  a-watchin' 
us.  "Oh,  my!"  she  sings  out;  "there's 
that  lovelee  dog!  Would  he  let  me  stroke 
him,  Mister  Soldier?  " 

"  Ay  he  would,  mum,"  sez  I,  "  for  he's 
fond  o'  laady's  coompany.  Coom  here, 
Rip,  an'  speeak  to  this  kind  laady."  An' 


Private  Learoyd's  Story       27 

Rip,  seein*  'at  t'  moongoose  bed  gotten 
clean  awaay,  cooms  up  like  t'  gentleman  he 
was,  nivver  a  hauporth  shy  nor  okkord. 

"  Oh,  you  beautiful  —  you  prettee  dog!  " 
she  says,  clippin'  an'  chantin'  her  speech 
in  a  way  them  sooart  has  o'  their  awn ;  "  I 
would  like  a  dog  like  you.  You  are  so 
verree  lovelee  —  so  awfullee  prettee,"  an' 
all  thot  sort  o'  talk,  'at  a  dog  o'  sense 
mebbe  thinks  nowt  on,  tho'  he  bides  it  by 
reason  o'  his  breedin'. 

An'  then  I  meks  him  joomp  ower  my 
swagger-cane,  an'  shek  hands,  an'  beg,  an' 
lie  dead,  an'  a  lot  o'  them  tricks  as  laadies 
teeaches  dogs,  though  I  doan't  haud  with 
it  mysen,  for  it's  makin'  a  fool  o'  a  good 
dog  to  do  such  like. 

An'  at  lung  length  it  cooms  out  'at  she'd 
been  thrawin'  sheep's  eyes,  as  t'  sayin'  is, 
at  Rip  for  many  a  day.  Yo'  see,  her  chil- 
der  was  grown  up,  an'  she'd  nowt  mich  to 
do,  an'  were  allus  fond  of  a  dog.  Soa  she 
axes  me  if  I'd  tek  somethin'  to  dhrink. 
An*  we  goes  into  t'  drawn-room  wheer  her 
'usband  was  a-settin'.  They  meks  a  gurt 
fuss  ower  t'  dog,  an'  I  has  a  bottle  o'  aale, 
an'  he  gave  me  a  handful  o'  cigars. 

Soa  I  coomed  away,  but  t'  awd  lass  sings 
out:  "Oh,  Mister  Soldier!  please  coom 
again  and  bring  that  prettee  dog." 

I  didn't  let  on  to  t'  colonel's  lady  about 
Mrs.  De  Sussa,  and  Rip,  he  says  nowt  naw- 


28  Soldiers  Three 

ther;  an'  I  gooes  again,  an'  ivry  time  there 
was  a  good  dhrink  an'  a  handful  o'  good 
smooaks.  An'  I  tailed  t'  awd  lass  a  heeap 
more  about  Rip  than  I'd  ever  heeared;  how 
he  tuk  t'  fost  prize  at  Lunnon  dog-show  and 
cost  thotty-three  pounds  fower  shillin'  from 
t'  man  as  bred  him ;  'at  his  own  brother  was 
t'  propputty  o'  t'  Prince  o'  Wailes,  an'  'at 
he  had  a  pedigree  as  long  as  a  dock's.  An' 
she  lapped  it  all  oop  an'  were  niver  tired  o' 
admirin'  him.  But  when  t'  awd  lass  took 
to  givin'  me  money  an'  I  seed  'at  she  were 
gettin'  fair  fond  about  t'  dog,  I  began  to 
suspicion  summat.  Onnybody  may  give  a 
soldier  t'  price  of  a  pint  in  a  friendly  way 
an'  theer's  no  'arm  done,  but  when  it  cooms 
to  five  rupees  slipt  into  your  hand,  sly  like, 
why,  it's  what  t'  'lectioneerin'  fellows  calls 
bribery  an'  corruption.  Specially  when 
Mrs.  De  Sussa  threwed  hints  how  t'  cold 
weather  would  soon  be  ovver  an'  she  was 
goin'  to  Munsooree  Pahar,  an'  we  was  goin' 
to  Rawalpindi,  an'  she  would  niver  see  Rip 
any  more  onless  somebody  she  knowed  on 
would  be  kind  tiv  her. 

Soa  I  tells  Mulvaney  an'  Ortheris  all  t' 
taale  thro',  beginnin'  to  end. 

;<  Tis  larceny  that  wicked  ould  laady 
manes,"  says  t'  Irishman,  "  'tis  felony  she  is 
sejuicin'  ye  into,  my  friend  Learoyd,  but  I'll 
purtect  your  innocince.  I'll  save  ye  from 
the  wicked  wiles  av  that  wealthy  ould  wo- 


Private  Learoyd's  Story       29 

man,  an'  I'll  go  wid  ye  this  evenin*  and 
spake  to  her  the  wurrds  ave  truth  an'  hon- 
esty. But  Jock,"  says  he,  waggin'  his 
heead,  "  'twas  not  like  ye  to  kape  all  that 
good  dhrink  an'  thim  fine  cigars  to  yerself, 
while  Orth'ris  here  an'  me  have  been 
prowin'  round  with  throats  as  dry  as  lime- 
kilns, and  nothin'  to  smoke  but  canteen 
plug.  Twas  a  dhirty  thrick  to  play  on  a 
comrade,  for  why  should  you,  Learoyd,  be 
balancin'  yourself  on  the  butt  av  a  satin 
chair,  as  if  Terrence  Mulvaney  was  not  the 
aquil  av  anybody  who  thrades  in  jute! " 

"  Let  alone  me,"  sticks  in  Orth'ris ;  "  but 
that's  like  life.  Them  wot's  really  fitted  to 
decorate  society  get  no  show,  while  a  blun- 
derin'  Yorkshireman  like  you " 

"  Nay,"  says  I,  "  it's  none  o'  t'  blunderin' 
Yorkshireman  she  wants,  it's  Rip.  He's  t* 
gentleman  this  journey." 

Soa  t'  next  day,  Mulvaney  an'  Rip  an'  me 
goes  to  Mrs.  De  Sussa's,  an'  t'  Irishman 
bein'  a  strainger  she  wor  a  bit  shy  at  fost, 
But  you've  heard  Mulvaney  talk,  an'  yo* 
may  believe  as  he  fairly  bewitched  t'  awd 
lass  wal  she  let  out  'at  she  wanted  to  tek 
Rip  away  wi'  her  to  Munsooree  Pahar 
Then  Mulvaney  changes  his  tune  an'  axes 
her  solemn-like  if  she'd  thought  o'  t'  conse- 
quences o'  gettin'  two  poor  but  honest  sol- 
diers sent  t'  Andamning  Islands.  Mrs.  De 
Sussa  began  to  cry,  so  Mulvaney  turns 


3° 


Soldiers  Three 


round  oppen  t'  other  tack  and  smooths  her 
down,  allowin'  'at  Rip  ud  be  a  vast  better 
off  in  t'  hills  than  down  i'  Bengal,  and  'twas 
a  pity  he  shouldn't  go  wheer  he  was  so  well 
beliked.  And  soa  he  went  on,  backin'  an' 
fillin'  an'  workin'  up  t'  awd  lass  wal  she  felt 
as  if  her  life  warn't  worth  nowt  if  she  didn't 
hev  t'  dog. 

Then  all  of  a  suddint  he  says:  "  But  ye 
shall  have  him,  marm,  for  I've  a  feelin' 
heart,  not  like  this  cowld-blooded  York- 
shireman ;  but  'twill  cost  ye  not  a  penny  less 
than  three  hundher  rupees." 

"  Don't  you  believe  him,  mum,"  says  I ; 
"t'  colonel's  laady  wouldn't  tek  five  hun- 
dred for  him." 

"Who  said  she  would?"  says  Mulvaney; 
"  it's  not  buyin'  him  I  mane,  but  for  the 
sake  o'  this  kind,  good  laady,  I'll  do  what 
I  never  dreamt  to  do  in  my  life.  I'll  stale 
him!  " 

"Don't  say  steal,"  says  Mrs.  De  Sussa; 
"  he  shall  have  the  happiest  home.  Dogs 
often  get  lost,  you  know,  and  then  they 
stray,  an'  he  likes  me,  and  I  like  him  as  I 
niver  liked  a  dog  yet,  an'  I  must  hev  him. 
If  I  got  him  at  t'  last  minute  I  could  carry 
him  off  to  Munsooree  Pahar  and  nobody 
would  niver  knaw." 

Now  an'  again  Mulvaney  looked  acrost 
at  me,  an'  though  I  could  make  nowt  o' 


Private  Learoyd's  Story       31 

what  he  was  after,  I  concluded  to  take  his 
leead. 

"  Well,  mum,"  I  says,  "  I  never  thowt  to 
coom  down  to  dog-stealin',  but  if  my  com- 
rade sees  how  it  could  be  done  to  oblige  a 
laady  like  yo'sen,  I'm  nut  t'  man  to  hod 
back,  tho'  it's  a  bad  business,  I'm  thinkin', 
an'  three  hundred  rupees  is  a  poor  set-off 
again  t'  chance  of  them  Damning  Islands 
as  Mulvaney  talks  on." 

"  I'll  mek  it  three  fifty,"  says  Mrs.  De 
Sussa;  "  only  let  me  hev  t'  dog!  " 

So  we  let  her  persuade  us,  an'  she  teks 
Rip's  measure  theer  an'  then,  an'  sent  to 
Hamilton's  to  order  a  silver  collar  again  t' 
time  when  he  was  to  be  her  awn,  which 
was  to  be  t'  day  she  set  off  for  Munsooree 
Pahar. 

"  Sitha,  Mulvaney,"  says  I,  when  we  was 
outside,  ''  you're  niver  goin'  to  let  her  hev 
Rip!" 

"  An'  would  ye  disappoint  a  poor  ould 
woman?"  says  he;  "  she  shall  have  a  Rip." 

"An'  wheer's  he  to  come  through?" 
says  I. 

"  Learoyd,  my  man,"  he  sings  out, 
"  you're  a  pretty  man  av  your  inches  an'  a 
good  comrade,  but  your  head  is  made  av 
duff.  Isn't  our  friend  Orth'ris  a  taxider- 
mist, an'  a  rale  artist  wid  his  nimble  white 
fingers?  An'  what's  a  taxidermist  but  a 
man  who  can  thrate  skins?  Do  ye  mind 


32  Soldiers  Three 

the  white  dog  that  belongs  to  the  canteen 
sargint,  bad  cess  to  him  —  he  that's  lost 
half  his  time  an'  snarlin'  the  rest?  He  shall 
be  lost  for  good  now;  an'  do  ye  mind  that 
he's  the  very  spit  in  shape  an'  size  av  the 
colonel's,  barrin'  that  his  tail  is  an  inch  too 
long,  an'  he  has  none  av  the  color  that 
divarsifies  the  rale  Rip,  an'  his  timper  is 
that  av  his  masther  an'  worse.  But  fwhat 
is  an  inch  on  a  dog's  tail?  An'  fwhat  to  a 
professional  like  Orth'ris  is  a  few  ring- 
straked  shpots  av  black,  brown,  an'  white? 
Nothin'  at  all,  at  all." 

Then  we  meets  Orth'ris,  an'  that  little 
man,  bein'  sharp  as  a  needle,  seed  his  way 
through  t'  business  in  a  minute.  An'  he 
went  to  work  a-practicin'  'air-dyes  the  very 
next  day,  beginnin'  on  some  white  rabbits 
he  had,  an'  then  he  drored  all  Rip's  mark- 
in's  on  t'  back  of  a  white  commissariat  bul- 
lock, so  as  to  get  his  'and  in  an'  be  sure 
of  his  colors;  shadin'  off  brown  into  black 
as  nateral  as  life.  If  Rip  had  a  fault  it  was 
too  mich  markin',  but  it  was  straingely  reg'- 
lar,  an'  Orth'ris  settled  himself  to  make  a 
fost-rate  job  on  it  when  he  got  haud  o'  t' 
canteen  sargint's  dog.  Theer  niver  was 
sich  a  dog  as  thot  for  bad  temper,  an'  it  did 
nut  get  no  better  when  his  tail  hed  to  be 
fettled  an  inch  an'  a  half  shorter.  But  they 
may  talk  o'  theer  Royal  Academies  as  they 
like,  I  niver  seed  a  'bit  o'  animal  paintin' 


Private  Learoyd's  Story       33 

to  beat  t'  copy  as  Orth'ris  made  of  Rip's 
marks,  wal  t'  picter  itself  was  snarlin'  all 
t'  time  an'  tryin'  to  get  at  Rip  standin'  theer 
to  be  copied  as  good  as  goold. 

Orth'ris  allus  hed  as  mich  conceit  on  him- 
sen  as  would  lift  a  balloon,  an'  he  wor  so 
pleeased  wi'  his  sham  Rip  he  wor  for  tek- 
king  him  to  Mrs.  De  Sussa  before  she  went 
away.  But  Mulvaney  an'  me  stopped  thot, 
knowin'  Orth'ris  work,  though  niver  so 
cliver,  was  nobbut  skin-deep.  An'  at  last 
Mrs.  De  Sussa  fixed  t'  day  for  startin'  to 
Munsooree  Pahar.  We  was  to  tek  Rip  to 
t'  stayshun  i'  a  basket  an'  hand  him  ovver 
just  when  they  was  ready  to  start,  an'  then 
she'd  give  us  t'  brass  —  as  was  agreed 
upon. 

An'  my  wo'd!  It  were  high  time  she 
were  off,  for  them  'air-dyes  upon  t'  cur's 
back  took  a  vast  of  paintin'  to  keep  t'  reet 
culler,  tho'  Orth'ris  spent  a  matter  of  seven 
rupees  six  annas  i'  t'  best  drooggist  shops 
i'  Calcutta. 

An' t'  canteen  sergeant  was  lookin'  for  'is 
dog  every wheer;  an',  wi'  bein'  tied  up,  t' 
beast's  timper  got  waur  nor  ever. 

It  wor  i'  t'  evenin'  when  t'  train  started 
thro'  Howrah,  an'  we  'elped  Mrs.  De  Sussa 
wi'  about  sixty  boxes,  an'  then  we  gave  her 
t'  basket.  Orth'ris,  for  pride  av  his  work, 
axed  us  to  let  him  coom  along  wi'  us,  an* 


34  Soldiers  Three 

he  couldn't  help  liftin'  t'  lid  an'  showin*  t* 
cur  as  he  lay  coiled  oop. 

"Oh!"  says  t'  awd  lass;  "the  beautee! 
How  sweet  he  looks!"  An'  just  then  t' 
beauty  snarled  an'  showed  his  teeth,  so 
Mulvaney  shuts  down  t'  lid  and  says: 
"  Ye'll  be  careful,  marm,  whin  ye  tek  him 
out.  He's  disaccustomed  to  traveling  by 
t'  railway,  an'  he'll  be  sure  to  want  his  rale 
mistress  an'  his  friend  Learoyd,  so  ye'll 
make  allowance  for  his  feelings  at  fost." 

She  would  do  all  thot  an'  more  for  the 
dear,  good  Rip,  an'  she  would  nut  oppen  t' 
basket  till  they  were  miles  away,  for  fear 
anybody  should  recognize  him,  an'  we  were 
real  good  and  kind  soldier-men,  we  were, 
an'  she  honds  me  a  bundle  o'  notes,  an' 
then  cooms  up  a  few  of  her  relations  an' 
friends  to  say  good-bye  —  not  more  than 
seventy-five  there  wasn't  —  an'  we  cuts 
away. 

What  coom  to  t'  three  hundred  and  fifty 
rupees?  Thot's  what  I  can  scarcelins  tell 
you,  but  we  melted  it.  It  was  share  an' 
share  alike,  for  Mulvaney  said :  "  If  Lea- 
royd got  hold  of  Mrs.  De  Sussa  first,  sure 
'twas  I  that  remimbered  the  sargint's  dog 
just  in  the  nick  av  time,  an'  Orth'ris  was 
the  artist  av  janius  that  made  a  work  av 
art  out  av  that  ugly  piece  av  ill-nature. 
Yet,  by  way  av  a  thank-offerin'  that  I  was 
not  led  into  felony  by  that  wicked  ould 


Private  Learoyd's  Story       35 

woman,  I'll  send  a  thrifle  to  Father  Victor 
for  the  poor  people  he's  always  beggin* 
for." 

But  me  an'  Orth'ris,  he  bein'  cockney  an' 
I  bein'  pretty  far  north,  did  nut  see  it  i'  t* 
saame  way.  We'd  getten  t'  brass,  an'  we 
meaned  to  keep  it.  An'  soa  we  did  —  for 
a  short  time. 

Noa,  noa,  we  niver  heeard  a  wod  more 
o*  t'  awd  lass.  Our  rig'mint  went  to  Pindi, 
an'  t'  canteen  sargint  he  got  himself  an- 
other tyke  insteead  o'  t'  one  'at  got  lost  so 
reg'lar,  an'  was  lost  for  good  at  last. 


THE  BIG  DRUNK  DRAFf 


We're  goin'  'ome,  we're  goin*  'ome  — 

Our  ship  is  at  the  shore, 
An*  you  mus'  pack  your  'aversack, 

For  we  won't  come  back  no  more. 
Ho,  don't  you  grieve  for  me, 

My  lovely  Mary  Ann, 
For  I'll  marry  you  yet  on  a  f ourp'ny  bit, 

As  a  time-expired  ma-a-an! 

— Barrack-room  Ballad. 

AN  awful  thing  has  happened!  My 
friend,  Private  Mulvaney,  who  went  home 
in  the  "  Serapis,"  time-expired,  not  very 
long  ago,  has  come  back  to  India  as  a 
civilian!  It  was  all  Dinah  Shadd's  fault. 
She  could  not  stand  the  poky  little  lodg- 
ings, and  she  missed  her  servant  Abdullah 
more  than  words  could  tell.  The  fact  was 
that  the  Mulvaneys  had  been  out  here  too 
long,  and  had  lost  touch  of  England. 

Mulvaney  knew  a  contractor  on  one  of 
the  new  Central  India  lines,  and  wrote  to 
him  for  some  sort  of  work.  The  con- 
tractor said  that  if  Mulvaney  could  pay  the 
passage  he  would  give  him  command  of  a 
gang  of  coolies  for  old  sake's  sake.  The 

36 


The  Big  Drunk  DraP       37 

pay  was  eighty-five  rupees  a  month,  and 
Dinah  Shadd  said  that  if  Terence  did  not 
accept  she  would  make  his  life  a  "  basted 
purgathory."  Therefore  the  Mulvaneys 
came  out  as  "  civilians,"  which  was  a  great 
and  terrible  fall;  though  Mulvaney  tried 
to  disguise  it,  by  saying  that  he  was 
"  ker'nel  on  the  railway  line,  an'  a  conse- 
quinshal  man/' 

He  wrote  me  an  invitation,  on  a  tool- 
indent  form,  to  visit  him ;  and  I  came  down 
to  the  funny  little  "  construction  "  bunga- 
low at  the  side  of  the  line.  Dinah  Shadd 
had  planted  pease  about  and  about,  and 
nature  had  spread  all  manner  of  green  stuff 
round  the  place.  There  was  no  change  in 
Mulvaney  except  the  change  of  raiment, 
which  was  deplorable,  but  could  not  be 
helped.  He  was  standing  upon  his  trolly, 
haranguing  a  gang-man,  and  his  shoulders 
were  as  well  drilled,  and  his  big,  thick  chin 
was  as  clean-shaven  as  ever. 

"I'm  a  civilian  now,"  said  Mulvaney. 
"  Cud  you  tell  that  I  was  iver  a  martial 
man?  Don't  answer,  sorr,  av  you're 
strainin'  betune  a  compliment  an'  a  lie. 
There's  no  houldin'  Dinah  Shadd  now  she's 
got  a  house  av  her  own.  Go  inside,  an' 
dhrink  tay  out  av  chiny  in  the  drrrrawin'- 
room,  an'  thin  we'll  dhrink  like  Christians 
undher  the  tree  here.  Scut,  ye  naygur- 
folk!  There's  a  sahib  come  to  call  on  me, 


38  Soldiers  Three 

an'  that's  more  than  he'll  iver  do  for  you 
onless  you  run!  Get  out,  an'  go  on  pilin' 
up  the  earth,  quick,  till  sundown." 

When  we  three  were  comfortably  settled 
under  the  big  sisham  in  front  of  the  bunga- 
low, and  the  first  rush  of  questions  and 
answers  about  Privates  Ortheris  and  Lea- 
royd  and  old  times  and  places  had  died 
away,  Mulvaney  said,  reflectively:  "Glory 
be  there's  no  p'rade  to-morrow,  an'  no  bun- 
headed  corp'ril-bhoy  to  give  you  his  lip. 
An'  yit  I  don't  know.  Tis  harrd  to  be 
something  ye  niver  were  an'  niver  meant  to 
be,  an'  all  the  ould  days  shut  up  along  wid 
your  papers.  Eyah!  I'm  growin'  rusty, 
an'  'tis  the  will  av  God  that  a  man  mustn't 
serve  his  quane  for  time  an'  all." 

He  helped  himself  to  a  fresh  peg,  and 
sighed  furiously. 

"  Let  your  beard  grow,  Mulvaney,"  said 
I,  "  and  then  you  won't  be  troubled  with 
those  notions.  You'll  be  a  real  civilian." 

Dinah  Shadd  had  confided  to  me  in  the 
drawing-room  her  desire  to  coax  Mulvaney 
into  letting  his  beard  grow.  "  'Twas  so 
civilian-like,"  said  poor  Dinah,  who  hated 
her  husband's  hankering  for  his  old  life. 

"  Dinah  Shadd,  you're  a  dishgrace  to  an 
honest,  clane-scraped  man!"  said  Mul- 
vaney, without  replying  to  me.  "  Grow  a 
beard  on  your  own  chin,  darlint,  and  lave 
my  razors  alone.  They're  all  that  stand 


The  Big  Drunk  Draf       39 

betune  me  and  dis-ris-pect-ability.  Av  I 
didn't  shave,  I  wud  be  torminted  wid  an 
outrajis  thurrst;  for  there's  nothin'  so 
dhryin'  to  the  throat  as  a  big  billy-goat 
beard  waggin'  undher  the  chin.  Ye  wudn't 
have  me  dhrink  always,  Dinah  Shadd?  By 
the  same  token,  you're  kapin  me  crool  dhry 
now.  Let  me  look  at  that  whisky." 

The  whisky  was  lent  and  returned,  but 
Dinah  Shadd,  who  had  been  just  as  eager 
as  her  husband  in  asking  after  old  friends, 
rent  me  with: 

"  I  take  shame  for  you,  sorr,  comin' 
down  here  —  though  the  saints  know 
you're  as  welkim  as  the  daylight  whin  you 
do  come  —  an'  upsettin'  Terence's  head  wid 
your  nonsense  about  —  about  fwhat's 
much  better  forgotten.  He  bein'  a  civilian 
now,  an'  you  niver  was  aught  else.  Can 
you  not  let  the  arrmy  rest?  'Tis  not  good 
for  Terence." 

I  took  refuge  by  Mulvaney,  for  Dinah 
Shadd  has  a  temper  of  her  own. 

"  Let  be  —  let  be,"  said  Mulvaney. 
"  'Tis  only  wanst  in  a  way  I  can  talk  about 
the  ould  days."  Then  to  me :  "  Ye  say 
Dhrumshticks  is  well,  an'  his  lady  tu?  I 
niver  knew  how  I  liked  the  gray  garron  till 
I  was  shut  av  him  an'  Asia."  ("  Dhrum- 
shticks "  was  the  nickname  of  the  colonel 
commanding  Mulvaney's  old  regiment.) 
"  Will  you  be  seein'  him  again?  You  will. 


40  Soldiers  Three 

Thin  tell  him  " —  Mulvaney's  eyes  began 
to  twinkle  — "  tell  him  wid  Privit  — " 

"  Mister,  Terence,"  interrupted  Dinah 
Shadd. 

"  Now  the  divil  an'  all  his  angels  an'  the 
firmament  av  hiven  fly  away  wid  the  '  Mis- 
ter,' an'  the  sin  av  makin'  me  °,wear  be  on 
your  confession,  Dinah  Shadd!  Privit,  I 
tell  ye.  Wid  Privit  Mulvaney's  best  obe- 
dience, that  but  for  me  the  last  time-expired 
wud  be  still  pullin'  hair  on  their  way  to  the 
sea." 

He  threw  himself  back  in  the  chair, 
chuckled,  and  was  silent. 

"Mrs.  Mulvaney,"  I  said,  "please  take 
up  the  whisky,  and  don't  let  him  have  it 
until  he  has  told  the  story." 

Dinah  Shadd  dexterously  whipped  the 
bottle  away,  saying  at  the  same  time, 
"  'Tis  nothing  to  be  proud  av,"  and  thus 
captured  by  the  enemy,  Mulvaney  spake: 

"  Twas  on  Chuseday  week.  I  was  be- 
haderin'  round  wid  the  gangs  on  the  'bank- 
mint  —  I've  taught  the  hoppers  how  to 
kape  step  an'  stop  screechin' — whin  a 
head-gangman  comes  up  to  me,  wid  about 
two  inches  av  shirt-tail  hanging  round  his 
neck  an'  a  disthressful  light  in  his  oi. 
'  Sahib/  sez  he,  '  there's  a  reg'mint  an'  a 
half  av  soldiers  up  at  the  junction,  knockin' 
red  cinders  out  av  ivrything  an'  ivrybody! 
They  thried  to  hang  me  in  my  cloth,'  he 


The  Big  Drunk  DraP       41 

sez,  '  an'  there  will  be  murder  an'  ruin  an' 
rape  in  the  place  before  nightfall!  They 
say  they're  comin'  down  here  to  wake  us 
up.  What  will  we  do  wid  our  women- 
folk?' 

"  '  Fetch  my  throlly ! '  sez  I;  '  my  heart's 
sick  in  my  ribs  for  a  wink  at  anything  wid 
the  quane's  uniform  on  ut.  Fetch  my 
throlly,  an'  six  av  the  jildiest  men,  and  run 
me  up  in  shtyle.'" 

"  He  tuk  his  best  coat,"  said  Dinah  Shadd 
reproachfully. 

u  Twas  to  do  honor  to  the  widdy.  I  cud 
ha'  done  no  less,  Dinah  Shadd.  You  and 
your  digreshins  interfere  wid  the  coorse  av 
the  narrative.  Have  you  iver  considhered 
fwhat  I  wud  look  like  wid  me  head  shaved 
as  well  as  my  chin?  You  bear  that  in  your 
mind,  Dinah  darlin'. 

"  I  was  throllied  up  six  miles,  all  to  get 
a  shquint  at  that  draf.  I  knew  'twas  a 
spring  draf  goin'  home,  for  there's  no  rig'- 
mint  hereabout,  more's  the  pity." 

"Praise  the  Virgin!"  murmured  Dinah 
Shadd.  But  Mulvaney  did  not  hear. 

"Whin  I  was  about  three  quarters  av  a 
mile  off  the  rest-camp,  powtherin'  along  fit 
to  burrst,  I  heard  the  noise  av  the  men,  an', 
on  my  sowl,  sorr,  I  cud  catch  the  voice  av 
Peg  Barney  bellowin'  like  a  bison  wid  the 
bellyache.  You  remimber  Peg  Barney  that 
was  in  D  Comp'ny  —  a  red,  hairy  scraun, 


42  Soldiers  Three 

wid  a  scar  on  his  jaw?  Peg  Barney  that 
cleared  out  the  Blue  Lights'  Jubilee  meet- 
ing wid  the  cook-room  mop  last  year? 

"  Thin  I  knew  ut  was  a  draf  of  the  ould 
rig'mint,  an'  I  was  conshumed  wid  sorrow 
for  the  bhoy  that  was  in  charge.  We  was 
harrd  scrapin's  at  any  time.  Did  I  iver 
tell  you  how  Horker  Kelley  went  into  clink 
nakid  as  Phoebus  Apollonius,  wid  the  shirts 
av  the  corp'ril  an'  file  undher  his  arrum? 
An'  he  was  a  moild  man!  But  I'm  digresh- 
in'.  Tis  a  shame  both  to  the  rig'mints  and 
the  arrmy  sendin'  down  little  orf  cer  bhoys 
wid  a  draf  av  strong  men  mad  wid  liquor 
an'  the  chanst  av  gettin  shut  av  India,  an' 
niver  a  punishment  that's  fit  to  be  given 
right  down  an'  away,  from  cantonmints  to 
the  dock!  'Tis  this  nonsince.  Whin  I  am 
servin'  my  time,  I'm  undher  the  articles  av 
war,  an'  can  be  whipped  on  the  peg  for 
thim.  But  whin  I've  served  my  time,  I'm 
a  Reserve  man,  an'  the  articles  av  war 
haven't  any  hould  on  me.  An  orf'cer  can't 
do  anythin'  to  a  time-expired  savin'  confin- 
in'  him  to  barricks.  'Tis  a  wise  rig'lation, 
bekaze  a  time-expired  does  not  have  any 
barricks;  bein'  on  the  move  all  the  time. 
Tis  a  Solomon  av  a  rig'lation,  is  that.  I 
wud  like  to  be  inthroduced  to  the  man  who 
secreted  ut.  'Tis  easier  to  get  colts  from  a 
Kibbereen  horse-fair  into  Galway  than  to 
take  a  bad  draf  over  ten  miles  av  country. 


The  Big  Drunk  Draf        43 

Consiquintly  that  rig'lation  for  fear  that  the 
men  wud  be  hurt  by  the  little  orf'cer  bhoy. 
No  matther.  The  nearer  my  throlly  came 
to  the  rest-camp,  the  woilder  was  the  shine, 
an'  the  louder  was  the  voice  av  Peg  Bar- 
ney. '  Tis  good  I  am  here/  thinks  I  to 
myself,  'for  Peg  alone  is  employmint  to 
two  or  three.'  He  bein',  I  well  knew,  as 
copped  as  a  dhrover. 

"  Faith,  that  rest-camp  was  a  sight!  The 
tent-ropes  was  all  skew-nosed,  an'  the  pegs 
looked  as  dhrunk  as  the  men  —  fifty  av 
thim  —  the  scourin's,  an'  rinsin's,  an'  divil's 
lavin's  av  the  ould  rig'mint.  I  tell  you, 
sorr,  they  were  dhrunker  than  any  men 
you've  ever  seen  in  your  mortial  life.  How 
does  a  draf  get  dhrunk?  How  does  a  frog 
get  fat?  They  suk  ut  in  through  their 
shkins. 

"There  was  Peg  Barney  sittin'  on  the 
groun'  in  his  shirt  —  wan  shoe  off  an'  wan 
shoe  on  —  whackin'  a  tent-peg  over  the 
head  wid  his  boot,  an'  singin'  fit  to  wake 
the  dead.  Twas  no  clane  song  that 
he  sung,  though.  Twas  the  '  Divil's 
Mass.' " 

"What's  that? "I  asked. 

"  Whin  a  bad  egg  is  shut  av  the  arrmy, 
he  sings  the  '  Divil's  Mass '  for  a  good  rid- 
dance; an'  that  manes  swearin'  at  ivry thing 
from  the  commandher-in-chief  down  to  the 
room-corp'ril,  such  as  you  niver  in  your 


44  Soldiers  Three 

days  heard.  Some  men  can  swear  so  as  to 
make  green  turf  crack!  Have  you  iver 
heard  the  curse  in  an  Orange  lodge?  The 
'  Divil's  Mass '  is  ten  times  worse,  an'  Peg 
Barney  was  singin'  ut,  whackin'  the  tent- 
peg  on  the  head  wid  his  boot  for  each  man 
that  he  cursed.  A  powerful  big  voice  had 
Peg  Barney,  an'  a  hard  swearer  he  was 
whin  sober.  I  stood  forninst  him,  an' 
'twas  not  me  oi  alone  that  cud  tell  Peg  was 
dhrunk  as  a  coot. 

' '  Good-mornin',  Peg/  I  sez,  whin  he 
dhrew  breath  afther  cursin'  the  adj'tint-gen'- 
ral;  '  I've  put  on  my  best  coat  to  see  you, 
Peg  Barney,'  sez  I. 

'  Thin  take  ut  off  again,'  sez  Peg  Bar- 
ney, latherin'  away  wid  the  boot ;  '  take  ut 
off  an'  dance,  ye  lousy  civilian!' 

"  Wid  that  he  begins  cursin'  ould  Dhrum- 
shticks,  being  so  full  he  clean  misremem- 
bers  the  brigade-major  an'  the  judge 
advokit  gen'ral. 

'Do  you  not  know  me,  Peg?'  sez  I, 
though  me  blood  was  hot  in  me  wid  bein' 
called  a  civilian." 

"  An'  him  a  decent  married  man!  "  wailed 
Dinah  Shadd. 

" '  I  do  not,'  sez  Peg,  '  but  dhrunk  or 
sober  I'll  tear  the  hide  off  your  back  wid 
a  shovel  whin  I've  stopped  singin'.' 

"  '  Say  you  so,  Peg  Barney? '  sez  I.  '  Tis 
clear  as  mud  you've  forgotten  me.  I'll  as- 


The  Big  Drunk  DraP       45 

sist  your  autobiography.'  Wid  that  I 
stretched  Peg  Barney,  boot  an'  all,  an'  wint 
into  the  camp.  An  awful  sight  ut  was! 

" '  Where's  the  orf'cer  in  charge  av  the 
detachment?'  sez  I  to  Scrub  Greene  —  the 
manest  little  worm  that  ever  walked. 

" '  There's  no  orf'cer,  ye  ould  cook,'  sez 
Scrub;  we're  a  bloomin'  republic.' 

" '  Are  you  that? '  sez  I; '  thin  I'm  O'Con- 
nell  the  Dictator,  an'  by  this  you  will  larn 
to  kape  a  civil  tongue  in  your  rag-box.' 

"Wid  that  I  stretched  Scrub  Greene  an' 
wint  to  the  orf'cer's  tent.  'Twas  a  new  lit- 
tle bhoy  —  not  wan  I'd  iver  seen  before. 
He  was  sittin'  in  his  tent,  purtendin'  not  to 
'ave  ear  av  the  racket. 

"  I  saluted  —  but  for  the  life  av  me  I  mint 
to  shake  hands  whin  I  went  in.  Twas  the 
sword  hangin'  on  the  tent-pole  changed  my 
will. 

"  '  Can't  I  help,  sorr? '  sez  I; '  'tis  a  strong 
man's  job  they've  given  you,  an'  you'll  be 
wantin'  help  by  sundown.'  He  was  a  bhoy 
wid  bowils,  that  child,  an'  a  rale  gintleman. 

' '  Sit  down,'  sez  he. 

" '  Not  before  my  orf'cer,'  sez  I ;  an*  I 
tould  him  fwhat  my  service  was. 

" '  I've  heard  av  you,'  sez  he.  '  You  tuk 
the  town  av  Lungtungpen  nakid.' 

"'Faith,'  thinks  I,  'that's  honor  an' 
glory ; '  for  'twas  Lift'nint  Brazenose  did 
tr-at  job.  '  I'm  wid  ye,  sorr,'  sez  I,  '  if  I'm 


46  Soldiers  Three 

av  use.  They  shud  niver  ha'  sent  you  down 
wid  the  draf.  Savin'  your  presince,  sorr,' 
I  sez,  '  'tis  only  Lift'nint  Hackerston  in  the 
ould  rig'mint  can  manage  a  home  drafY 

"  I've  niver  had  charge  of  men  like  this 
before,'  sez  he,  playin'  wid  the  pens  on  the 
table ;  '  an'  I  see  by  the  rig'lations " 

" '  Shut  your  oi  to  the  rig'lations,  sorr,' 
I  sez,  '  till  the  throoper's  into  blue  wather. 
By  the  rig'lations  you've  got  to  tuck  thim 
up  for  the  night,  or  they'll  be  runnin'  foul 
av  my  coolies  an'  makin'  a  shiverarium  half 
through  the  country.  Can  you  trust  your 
non-coms,  sorr?' 

"  '  Yes/  sez  he. 

"  '  Good,'  sez  I ;  '  there'll  be  throuble  be- 
fore the  night.  Are  you  marchin',  sorr? ' 
'  To  the  next  station,'  sez  he. 

" '  Better  still,'  sez  I ;  '  there'll  be  big 
throuble.' 

" '  Can't  be  too  hard  on  a  home  draf'/ 
sez  he;  'the  great  thing  is  to  get  thim 
in-ship.' 

"  '  Faith,  you've  larnt  the  half  av  your 
lesson,  sorr,'  sez  I,  '  but  av  you  shtick  to 
the  rig-lations  you'll  niver  get  thim  in-ship 
at  all,  at  all.  Or  there  won't  be  a  rag  av 
kit  betune  thim  whin  you  do.' 

"  Twas  a  dear  little  orf'cer  bhoy,  an'  by 
way  av  kapin'  his  heart  up,  I  tould  him 
fwhat  I  saw  wanst  in  a  draf  in  Egypt." 

"  What  was  that,  Mulvaney?  "  said  I. 


The  Big  Drunk  Draf '       47 

"  Sivin-an'-fifty  men  sittin'  on  the  bank 
av  a  canal,  laughin'  at  a  poor  little  squid- 
gereen  av  an  orf'cer  that  they'd  made  wade 
into  the  slush  an'  pitch  the  things  out  av 
the  boats  for  their  lord  high  mightinesses. 
That  made  the  orf'cer  bhoy  woild  wid 
indignation. 

"  '  Soft  an'  aisy,  sorr/  sez  I ;  '  you've 
niver  had  your  draf  in  hand  since  you  left 
cantonmints.  Wait  till  the  night,  an'  your 
work  will  be  ready  to  you.  Wid  your  per- 
mission, sorr,  I  will  investigate  the  camp, 
an'  talk  to  my  ould  frinds.  Tis  no  man- 
ner av  use  thryin'  to  shtop  the  divilmint 
now/ 

"  Wid  that  I  wint  out  into  the  camp  an' 
inthrojuced  mysilf  to  ivry  man  sober 
enough  to  remimber  me.  I  was  some  wan 
in  the  ould  days,  an'  the  bhoys  was  glad 
to  see  me  —  all  excipt  Peg  Barney,  wid  a 
eye  like  a  tomato  five  days  in  the  bazaar, 
an'  a  nose  to  correspon'.  They  come 
round  me  an'  shuk  me,  an'  I  tould  thim 
I  was  in  privit  employ  wid  an  income  av 
me  own,  an'  a  drrrawin'-room  fit  to  bate 
the  quane's;  an'  wid  me  lies  an'  me  shtories 
an'  nonsince  gin'rally  I  kept  'em  quiet  in 
wan  way  an'  another,  knockin'  roun'  the 
camp.  Twas  bad  even  thin  whin  I  was 
the  Angil  av  Peace. 

"  I  talked  to  me  ould  non-coms  —  they 
was  sober  —  an'  betune  me  an'  thim  we 


48  Soldiers  Three 

wore  the  draf  over  into  their  tents  at  the 
proper  time.  The  little  orf'cer  bhoy  he 
comes  round,  decint  an'  civil-spoken  as 
might  be. 

" '  Rough  quarters,  men,'  sez  he,  '  but 
you  can't  look  to  be  as  comfortable  as  in 
barricks.  We  must  make  the  best  av 
things.  I've  shut  my  eyes  to  a  dale  av 
dog's  trick  to-day,  an'  now  there  must  be 
no  more  av  ut.' 

" '  No  more  we  will.  Come  an'  have  a 
dhrink,  me  son,'  sez  Peg  Barney,  staggerin' 
where  he  stud.  Me  little  orf'cer  bhoy  kep 
his  timper. 

" '  You're  a  sulky  swine,  you  are,'  sez 
Peg  Barney,  an'  at  that  the  men  in  the  tent 
began  to  laugh. 

"  I  tould  you  me  orf'cer  bhoy  had  bowils. 
He  cut  Peg  Barney  as  near  as  might  be  on 
the  oi  that  I'd  squashed  whin  we  first  met. 
Peg  wint  spinnin'  acrost  the  tent. 

"  '  Peg  him  out,  sorr,'  sez  I,  in  a  whisper. 

"'Peg  him  out!'  sez  me  orf'cer  bhoy, 
up  loud,  just  as  if  'twas  battalion  p'rade, 
an'  he  pickin'  his  wurrds  from  the  sargint. 

"The  non-coms  tuk  Peg  Barney  —  a 
howlin'  handful  he  was  —  an'  in  three  min- 
uts  he  was  pegged  out  —  chin  down,  tight- 
dhrawn  —  on  his  stummick,  a  peg  to  each 
arm  an'  leg,  swearin'  fit  to  turn  a  naygur 
white. 

"  I  tuk  a  peg  an'  jammed  ut  into  his  ugly 


The  Big  Drunk  DraP       49 

jaw.  'Bite  on  that  Peg  Barney,'  I  sez; 
'  the  night  is  settin'  frosty,  an'  you'll  be 
wantin'  divarsion  before  the  mornin'.  But 
for  the  rig-lations  you'd  be  bitin'  on  a  bul- 
let now  at  the  thriangles,  Peg  Barney/ 
sez  I. 

"  All  the  draf  was  out  av  their  tents 
watchin'  Barney  bein'  pegged. 

"  '  Tis  ag'in  the  rig'lations !  He  strook 
him ! '  screeches  out  Scrub  Greene,  who 
was  always  a  lawyer;  an'  some  of  the  men 
tuk  up  the  shoutin'. 

"  '  Peg  out  that  man ! '  sez  me  orf 'cer 
bhoy,  niver  losin'  his  timper;  an'  the  non- 
coms  wint  in  and  pegged  out  Scrub  Greene 
by  the  side  av  Peg  Barney. 

"  I  could  see  that  the  draf  was  comin' 
roun'.  The  men  stud  not  knowin'  fwhat 
to  do. 

"  '  Get  to  your  tents ! '  sez  me  orf  cer 
bhoy.  '  Sargint,  put  a  sintry  over  these 
two  men.' 

"  The  men  wint  back  into  the  tents  like 
jackals,  an'  the  rest  av  the  night  there  was 
no  noise  at  all  excipt  the  stip  av  the  sintry 
over  the  two,  an'  Scrub  Greene  blubberin' 
like  a  child.  'Twas  a  chilly  night,  an'  faith 
ut  sobered  Peg  Barney. 

"  Just  before  revelly,  me  orf'cer  bhoy 
comes  out  an'  sez :  '  Loose  those  men  an' 
send  thim  to  their  tents ! '  Scrub  Greene 
wint  away  widout  a  word,  but  Peg  Barney, 


5° 


Soldiers  Three 


stiff  wid  the  cowld,  stud  like  a  sheep, 
thryin'  to  make  his  orf'cer  understhand  he 
was  sorry  for  playin'  the  goat. 

"  There  was  no  tucker  in  the  draf  whin 
ut  fell  in  for  the  march,  an'  divil  a  wurrd 
about  '  illegality '  could  I  hear. 

"  I  wint  to  the  ould  color  sargint  and 
I  sez :  '  Let  me  die  in  glory/  sez  I.  '  I've 
seen  a  man  this  day! ' 

"'A  man  he  is,'  sez  ould  Hother;  'the 
drafs  as  sick  as  a  herrin'.  They'll  all  go 
down  to  the  sea  like  lambs.  That  bhoy 
has  the  bowils  av  a  cantonmint  av 
gin'rals.' 

" '  Amin,'  sez  I,  '  an'  good  luck  go  wid 
him,  wheriver  he  be,  by  land  or  by  say. 
Let  me  know  how  the  draf  gets  clear.' 

"  An'  do  you  know  how  they  did?  That 
bhoy,  so  I  was  tould  by  letter  from  Bom- 
bay, bullydamned  'em  down  to  the  dock, 
till  they  cudn't  call  their  sowls  their  own. 
From  the  time  they  left  me  oi  till  they  was 
'tween  decks,  not  wan  av  thim  was  more 
than  dacintly  dhrunk.  An',  by  the  holy 
articles  av  war,  whin  they  wint  aboard  they 
cheered  him  till  they  cudn't  spake,  an'  that, 
mark  you,  has  not  come  about  wid  a  draf 
in  the  mim'ry  av  livin'  man!  You  look  to 
that  little  orf'cer  bhoy.  He  has  bowils. 
Tis  not  ivry  child  that  wud  chuck  the  rig'- 
lations  to  Flanders  an'  stretch  Peg  Barney 
on  a  wink  from  a  brokin  an'  dilapidated 


The  Big  Drunk  DraP        51 

ould  carkiss  like  mesilf.  I'd  be  proud  to 
serve  — " 

"  Terence,  you're  a  civilian,"  said  Dinah 
Shadd,  warningly. 

"  So  I  am  —  so  I  am.  Is  ut  likely  I  wud 
forget  ut?  But  he  was  a  gran'  bhoy,  all 
the  same,  an'  I'm  only  a  mudtipper  wid  a 
hod  on  my  shoulthers.  The  whisky's  in 
the  heel  av  your  hand,  sorr.  Wid  your 
good  lave  we'll  dhrink  to  the  ould  rig'- 
mint  —  three  fingers  —  standin'  up!" 

And  we  drank. 


THE  SOLID  MULDOON 


Did  you  see  John  Malone,  wid  his  shinin',  brand- 

new  hat  ? 

Did  ye  see  how  he  walked  like  a  grand  aristocrat? 
There  was  flags  an'  banners  wavin'  high,  an'  dhress 

and  shtyle  were  shown, 
But  the  best  av  all  the  company  was  Misther  John 

Malone.  —John  Malone. 

This  befell  in  the  old  days,  and,  as  my 
friend  Private  Mulvaney  was  specially  care- 
ful to  make  clear,  the  Unregenerate. 

There  had  been  a  royal  dog-fight  in  the 
ravine  at  the  back  of  the  rifle-butts,  be- 
tween Learoyd's  Jock  and  Ortheris's  Blue 
Rot  —  both  mongrel  Rampur  hounds, 
chiefly  ribs  and  teeth.  It  lasted  for  twenty 
happy,  howling  minutes,  and  then  Blue 
Rot  collapsed  and  Ortheris  paid  Learoyd 
three  rupees,  and  we  were  all  very  thirsty. 
A  dog-fight  is  a  most  heating  entertain- 
ment, quite  apart  from  the  shouting,  be- 
cause Rampurs  fight  over  a  couple  of  acres 
of  ground.  Later,  when  the  sound  of  belt- 
badges  clinking  against  the  necks  of  beer- 

52 


The  Solid  Muldoon         53 

bottles  had  died  away,  conversation  drifted 
from  dog  to  man  fights  of  all  kinds.  Hu- 
mans resemble  red-deer  in  some  respects. 
Any  talk  of  fighting  seems  to  wake  up  a 
sort  of  imp  in  their  breasts,  and  they  bell 
one  to  the  other,  exactly  like  challenging 
bucks.  This  is  noticeable  even  in  men 
who  consider  themselves  superior  to  pri- 
vates of  the  line;  it  shows  the  refining  in- 
fluence of  civilization  and  the  march  of 
progress. 

Tale  provoked  tale,  and  each  tale  more 
beer.  Even  dreamy  Learoyd's  eyes  began 
to  brighten,  and  he  unburdened  himself  of 
a  long  history  in  which  a  trip  to  Malham 
Cove,  a  girl  at  Pateley  Brigg,  a  ganger, 
himself  and  a  pair  of  clogs  were  mixed  in 
drawling  tangle. 

"  An'  so  Ah  coot's  yead  oppen  from  t' 
chin  to  t'  hair  an'  he  was  abed  for  t'  mat- 
ter o'  a  month,"  concluded  Learoyd, 
pensively. 

Mulvaney  came  out  of  a  reverie  —  he 
was  lying  down  —  and  flourished  his  heels 
in  the  air.  "  You're  a  man,  Learoyd,"  said 
he,  critically,  "  but  you've  only  fought  wid 
men,  an'  that's  an  ivry-day  expayrience; 
but  I've  stud  up  to  a  ghost,  an'  that  was 
not  an  ivry-day  expayrience." 

"  No?  "  said  Ortheris,  throwing  a  cork 
at  him.  "  You  git  up  an'  address  the  'ouse 


54  Soldiers  Three 

—  you  an'  yer  expayriences.  Is  it  a  bigger 
one  nor  usual?  " 

"  'Twas  the  livin'  trut'!  "  answered  Mul- 
vaney,  stretching  out  a  huge  arm  and 
catching  Ortheris  by  the  collar.  "  Now 
where  are  ye,  me  son?  Will  ye  take  the 
wurrud  av  the  Lorrd  out  av  my  mout  an- 
other time?  "  He  shook  him  to  empha- 
size the  question.  . 

"  No,  somethin'  else,  though,"  said 
Ortheris,  making  a  dash  at  Mulvaney's 
pipe,  capturing  it,  and  holding  it  at  arm's- 
length;  "I'll  chuck  it  acrost  the  ditch  if 
you  don't  let  me  go !  " 

"You  maraudin'  hathen!  Tis  the  only 
cutty  I  iver  loved.  Handle  her  tinder  or 
I'll  chuck  you  acrost  the  nullah.  If  that 
poipe  was  bruk —  Ah!  Give  her  back  to 
me,  sorr! " 

Ortheris  had  passed  the  treasure  to  my 
hand.  It  was  an  absolutely  perfect  clay, 
as  shiny  as  the  black  ball  at  pool.  I  took 
it  reverently,  but  I  was  firm. 

"  Will  you  tell  us  about  the  ghost-fight 
if  I  do?  "I  said. 

"Is  ut  the  shtory  that's  troublin'  you? 
Av  course  I  will.  I  mint  to  all  along.  I 
was  only  gettin'  at  ut  my  own  way,  as  Popp 
Doggie  said  whin  they  found  him  thrying 
to  ram  a  cartridge  down  the  muzzle. 
Orth'ris,  fall  away!" 

He  released  the  little   Londoner,   took 


The  Solid  Muldoon         55 

back  his  pipe,  filled  it,  and  his  eyes  twin- 
kled. He  has  the  most  eloquent  eyes  of 
any  one  that  I  know. 

"  Did  I  iver  tell  you/'  he  began,  "  that 
I  was  wanst  the  divil  av  a  man?  " 

"  You  did,"  said  Learoyd,  with  a  childish 
gravity  that  made  Ortheris  yell  with  laugh- 
ter, for  Mulvaney  was  always  impressing 
upon  us  his  merits  in  the  old  days. 

"  Did  I  iver  tell  you,"  Mulvaney  con- 
tinued, calmly,  "  that  I  was  wanst  more  av 
a  divil  than  I  am  now?  " 

"  Mer — rial  You  don't  mean  it?"  said 
Ortheris. 

"  Whin  I  was  corp'ril  —  I  was  rejuced 
aftherwards  —  but,  as  I  say,  whin  I  was 
corp'ril,  I  was  a  divil  of  a  man." 

He  was  silent  for  nearly  a  minute,  while 
his  mind  rummaged  among  old  memories 
and  his  eyes  glowed.  He  bit  upon  the 
pipe-stem  and  charged  into  his  tale. 

"  Eyah !  They  was  great  times.  I'm 
ould  now;  me  hide's  wore  off  in  patches; 
sinthry-go  has  disconceited  me,  an'  I'm  a 
married  man  tu.  But  I've  had  my  day, 
I've  had  my  day,  an'  nothin'  can  take  away 
the  taste  av  that!  Oh,  my  time  past,  whin 
I  put  me  fut  through  ivry  livin'  wan  av 
the  Tin  Commandmints  between  revelly 
and  lights  out,  blew  the  froth  off  a 
pewter,  wiped  me  mustache  wid  the  back 
av  me  hand,  an'  slept  on  ut  all  as  quiet  as 


56  Soldiers  Three 

a  little  child!  But  ut's  over  —  ut's  over, 
an'  'twill  niver  come  back  to  me;  not 
though  I  prayed  for  a  week  av  Sundays. 
Was  there  any  wan  in  the  ould  rig'mint  to 
touch  Corp'ril  Terence  Mulvaney  whin 
that  same  was  turned  out  for  sedukshin? 
I  niver  met  him.  Ivry  woman  that  was  not 
a  witch  was  worth  the  runnin'  afther  in 
those  days,  an'  ivry  man  was  my  dearest 
frind  or  —  I  had  stripped  to  him  an'  we 
knew  which  was  the  betther  av  the  tu. 

"  Whin  I  was  corp'ril  I  wud  not  ha' 
changed  wid  the  colonel  —  no,  nor  yet  the 
commander-in-chief.  I  wud  be  a  sargint. 
There  was  nothin'  I  wud  not  be!  Mother 
av  Hivin,  look  at  me!  Fwhat  am  I  now? 
But  no  matther!  I  must  get  to  the  other 
ghosts  —  not  the  wans  in  my  ould  head. 

"  We  was  quartered  in  a  big  cantonmint 
— 'tis  no  manner  av  use  namin'  names,  for 
ut  might  give  the  barricks  disrepitation  — 
an'  I  was  the  imperor  av  the  earth  to  my 
own  mind,  an'  wan  or  tu  women  thought 
the  same.  Small  blame  to  thim.  Afther 
we  had  lain  there  a  year,  Bragin,  the  color 
sargint  av  E  Comp'ny,  wint  an'  took  a  wife 
that  was  lady's-maid  to  some  big  lady  in 
the  station.  She's  dead  now,  is  Annie 
Bragin  —  died  in  child-bed  at  Kirpa  Tal, 
or  ut  may  ha'  been  Almorah  —  seven  — 
nine  years  gone,  an'  Bragin  he  married 
ag'in.  But  she  was  a  pretty  woman  whin 


The  Solid  Muldoon         57 

Bragin  inthrojuced  her  to  cantonmint  so- 
ciety. She  had  eyes  like  the  brown  av  a 
buttherfly's  wing  whin  the  sun  catches  ut, 
an'  a  waist  no  thicker  than  my  arm,  an' 
a  little  sof  button  av  a  mouth  I  wud  ha* 
gone  through  all  Asia  bristlin'  wid  bay'nits 
to  get  the  kiss  av.  An'  her  hair  was  as 
long  as  the  tail  av  the  colonel's  charger  — 
forgive  me  mintionin'  that  blunderin'  baste 
in  the  same  mouthful  with  Annie  Bragin  — 
but  'twas  all  shpun  gold,  an'  time  was  whin 
a  lock  av  ut  was  more  than  di'monds  to 
me.  There  was  niver  pretty  woman  yet, 
an'  I've  had  thruck  wid  a  few,  cud  open 
the  door  to  Annie  Bragin. 

"  'Twas  in  the  Carth'lic  chapel  I  saw  her 
first,  me  oi  rolling  round  as  usual  to  see 
fwhat  was  to  be  seen.  '  You're  too  good 
for  Bragin,  my  love,'  thinks  I  to  mesilf, 
'  but  that's  a  mistake  I  can  put  straight, 
or  my  name  is  not  Terence  Mulvaney.' 

"  Now  take  my  wurrd  for  ut,  you  Orth'- 
ris  there  an'  Learoyd,  an'  kape  out  av  the 
married  quarters  —  as  I  did  not.  No  good 
iver  comes  av  ut,  an'  there's  always  the 
chance  av  your  bein'  found  wid  your  face 
in  the  dirt,  a  long  picket  in  the  back  av 
your  head,  an'  your  hands  playing  the  fifes 
on  the  tread  av  another  man's  doorstep. 
'Twas  so  we  found  O'Hara,  he  that  Raf- 
ferty  killed  six  years  gone,  when  he  wint 
to  his  death  wid  his  hair  oiled,  whistlin' 


58  Soldiers  Three 

'  Billy  O'Rourke  '  betune  his  teeth.  Rape 
out  av  the  married  quarters,  I  say,  as  I  did 
not.  Tis  omvholesim,  'tis  dangerous,  an: 
'tis  ivrything  else  that's  bad,  but  —  Oh, 
my  sowl,  'tis  swate  while  ut  lasts! 

"  I  was  always  hangin'  about  there  whin 
I  was  off  duty  an'  Bragin  wasn't,  but  niver 
a  sweet  word  beyon'  ordinar'  did  I  get  from 
Annie  Bragin.  '  'Tis  the  pervarsity  av  the 
sect/  sez  I  to  mesilf,  an'  gave  my  cap  an- 
other cock  on  my  head  an'  straightened 
my  back  —  'twas  the  back  av  a  dhrum- 
major  in  those  days  —  an'  wint  off  as  tho' 
I  did  not  care,  wid  all  the  women  in  the 
married  quarters  laughhv.  I  was  per- 
shuaded  —  most  bhoys  are,  I'm  thinkin' — 
that  no  woman  born  av  woman  cud  stand 
against  me  av  I  hild  up  me  little  finger.  I 
had  reason  for  thinkin'  that  way  —  till  I 
met  Annie  Bragin. 

"  Time  an'  ag'in  whin  I  was  blanhand- 
herin'  in  the  dusk  a  man  wud  go  past  me 
as  quiet  as  a  cat.  '  That's  quare,'  thinks  I, 
'  for  I  am,  or  I  should  be,  the  only  man  in 
these  parts.  Now  what  divilment  can 
Annie  be  up  to? '  Thin  I  called  myself  a 
blayguard  for  thinkin'  such  things;  but  I 
thought  thim  all  the  same.  An'  that,  mark 
you,  is  the  way  av  a  man. 

"Wan  evenin'  I  said:  'Mrs.  Bragin, 
manin'  no  disrespect  to  you,  who  is  that 
corp'ril  man  —  I  had  seen  the  stripes 


The  Solid  Muldoon         59 

though  I  cud  niver  get  sight  av  his  face  — 
'  who  is  that  corp'ril  man  that  comes  in 
always  whin  I'm  goin'  away?  " 

"'Mother  av  God!'  sez  she,  turnin'  as 
white  as  my  belt; '  have  you  seen  him,  too? ' 

"'Seen  him!'  sez  I;  'av  coorse  I  have. 
Did  ye.  want  me  not  to  see  him,  for  ' —  we 
were  standin'  talkin'  in  the  dhark,  outside 
the  veranda  av  Bragin's  quarters  — '  you'd 
betther  tell  me  to  shut  me  eyes.  Onless 
I'm  mistaken,  he's  come  now.' 

"  An',  sure  enough,  the  corp'ril  man  was 
walkin'  to  us,  hangin'  his  head  down  as 
though  he  was  ashamed  av  himself. 

" '  Good-night,  Mrs.  Bragin,'  sez  I,  very 
cool ;  '  'tis  not  for  me  to  interfere  wid  your 
a-moors;  but  you  might  manage  these 
things  wid  more  dacincy.  I'm  off  to  can- 
teen,' I  sez. 

"  I  turned  on  my  heel  and  wint  away, 
swearin'  I  wud  give  that  man  a  dhressin' 
that  wud  shtop  him  messin'  about  the  mar- 
ried quarters  for  a  month  an'  a  week.  I 
had  not  tuk  ten  paces  before  Annie  Bragin 
was  hangin'  on  to  my  arm,  an'  I  cud  feel 
that  she  was  shakin'  all  over. 

" '  Stay  wid  me,  Mister  Mulvaney,'  sez 
she;  'you're  flesh  an'  blood,  at  the  least  — 
are  ye  not? ' 

" '  I'm  all  that,'  sez  I,  an'  my  anger  wint 
away  in  a  flash.  '  Will  I  want  to  be  asked 
twice,  Annie?' 


60  Soldiers  Three 

"Wid  that  I  slipped  my  arm  round  her 
waist,  for,  begad,  I  fancied  she  had  surrin- 
dered  at  discretion,  an'  the  honors  av  war 
were  mine. 

"'Fwhat  nonsince  is  this?'  sez  she, 
dhrawin'  herself  up  on  the  tips  av  her  dear 
little  toes.  '  Wid  the  mother's  milk  not 
dhry  on  your  impident  mouth?  Let  go!* 
she  sez. 

" '  Did  ye  not  say  just  now  that  1  was 
flesh  and  blood? '  sez  I.  '  I  have  not 
changed  since/  I  sez;  an'  I  kep'  my  arm 
where  ut  was. 

"'Your  arms  to  yoursilf!'  sez  she,  an* 
her  eyes  sparkild. 

" '  Sure,  'tis  only  human  nature,'  sez  I  ; 
an*  I  kep'  my  arm  where  ut  was. 

" '  Nature  or  no  nature,'  sez  she,  '  you 
take  your  arm  away  or  I'll  tell  Bragin,  an* 
he'll  alter  the  nature  av  your  head.  Fwhat 
d'you  take  me  for?'  she  sez. 

"'A  woman,'  sez  I;  'the  prettiest  in 
barricks.* 

"A  wife,'  sez  she;  'the  straightest  in 
cantonmints! ' 

"Wid  that  I  dropped  my  arm,  fell  back 
tu  paces,  an'  saluted,  for  I  saw  that  she  mint 
fwhat  she  said." 

"Then  you  know  something  that  some 
nen  would  give  a  good  deal  to  be  certain 
of.    How  could  you  tell?"  I  demanded, 
in  the  interests  of  science. 


The  Solid  Muldoon         61 

"'Watch  the  hand,'  said  Mulvaney;  'av 
she  shuts  her  hand  tight,  thumb  down  over 
the  knuckle,  take  up  your  hat  an'  go, 
You'll  only  make  a  fool  av  yourself  av  you 
shtay.  But  av  the  hand  lies  opin  on  the 
lap,  or  av  you  see  her  thryin'  to  shut  ut, 
an'  she  can't  —  go  on !  She's  not  past  rea- 
sonin'  wid.' 

"Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  I  fell  back,  sa- 
luted, an'  was  goin'  away. 

"'Shtay  wid  me,'  she  sez.  'Look! 
He's  comin'  again.' 

"  She  pointed  to  the  veranda,  an'  by  the 
hoight  av  impart'nince,  the  corp'ril  man 
was  comin'  out  av  Bragin's  quarters. 

" '  He's  done  that  these  five  evenin's  past,' 
sez  Annie  Bragin.  '  Oh,  fwhat  will  I  do? ' 

" '  He'll  not  do  ut  again,'  sez  I,  for  I  was 
fightin'  mad. 

"  Kape  away  from  a  man  that  has  been 
a  thrifle  crossed  in  love  till  the  fever's  died 
down.  He  rages  like  a  brute  baste. 

"  I  wint  up  to  the  man  in  the  veranda, 
manin',  as  sure  as  I  sit,  to  knock  the  life 
out  av  him.  He  slipped  into  the  open, 
'  Fwhat  are  doin'  philanderin'  about  here, 
ye  scum  av  the  gutter?'  sez  I,  polite,  to 
give  him  his  warnin',  for  I  wanted  him 
ready. 

"  He  niver  lifted  his  head,  but  sez,  all 
mournful  an'  melancolius,  as  if  he  thought 


62  Soldiers  Three 

I  wud  be  sorry  for  him :  '  I  can't  find  her/ 
sez  he. 

" '  My  troth/  sez  I, '  you've  lived  too  long 
—  you  an'  your  seekin's  an'  findin's  in  a 
dacint  married  woman's  quarters!  Hould 
up  your  head,  ye  frozen  thief  av  Genesis/ 
sez  I,  'an'  you'll  find  all  you  want  an' 
more! ' 

"  But  he  niver  hild  up,  an'  I  let  go  from 
the  shoulder  to  where  the  hair  is  short  over 
the  eyebrows. 

" '  That'll  do  your  business/  sez  I,  but  it 
nearly  did  mine  instid.  I  put  my  body- 
weight  behind  the  blow,  but  I  hit  nothing 
at  all,  an'  near  put  my  shoulder  out.  The 
corp'ril  man  was  not  there,  an'  Annie  Bra- 
gin,  who  had  been  watchin'  from  the  ver- 
anda, throws  up  her  heels,  an'  carries  on 
like  a  cock  whin  his  neck's  wrung  by  the 
dhrummer-bhoy.  I  wint  back  to  her,  for 
a  livin'  woman,  an'  a  woman  like  Annie 
Bragin,  is  more  than  a  p'rade-groun'  full  av 
ghosts.  I'd  never  seen  a  woman  faint  be- 
fore, an'  I  stud  like  a  shtuck  calf,  askin'  her 
whether  she  was  dead,  an'  prayin'  her  for 
the  love  av  me,  an'  the  love  of  her  husband, 
an'  the  love  av  the  Virgin,  to  opin  her 
blessed  eyes  again,  an'  callin'  mesilf  all  the 
names  undher  the  canopy  av  hivin  for 
plaguin'  her  wid  my  miserable  a-moors 
whin  I  ought  to  ha'  stud  betune  her  an* 


The  Solid  Muldoon         63 

this  corp'ril  man  that  had  lost  the  number 
av  his  mess. 

"  I  misremimber  fwhat  nonsince  I  said, 
but  I  was  not  so  far  gone  that  I  cud  not 
hear  a  fut  on  the  dirt  outside.  'Twas  Bra- 
gin  comin'  in,  an'  by  the  same  token  Annie 
was  comin'  to.  I  jumped  to  the  far  end 
av  the  veranda  an*  looked  as  if  butter 
wudn't  melt  in  my  mouth.  But  Mrs> 
Quinn,  the  quarter-master's  wife  that  wasr 
had  tould  Bragin  about  my  hangin'  round 
Annie. 

"  *  I'm  not  pleased  wid  you,  Mulvaney/ 
sez  Bragin,  unbucklin'  his  sword,  for  he 
had  been  on  duty. 

"'That's  bad  hearinV  I  sez,  an'  I  knew 
that  the  pickets  were  dhriven  in.  'What 
for,  sargint?'  sez  I. 

" '  Come  outside/  sez  he,  '  an'  I'll  show 
you  why.' 

" '  I'm  willin','  I  sez;  '  but  my  stripes  are 
none  so  ould  that  I  can  afford  to  lose  thim. 
Tell  me  now,  who  do  I  go  out  wid? '  sez  I. 

"  He  was  a  quick  man  an'  a  just,  an'  saw 
fwhat  I  wud  be  afther.  'Wid  Mrs.  Bra- 
gin's  husband,'  sez  he.  He  might  ha' 
known  by  me  askin'  that  favor  that  I  had 
done  him  no  wrong. 

"  We  wint  to  the  back  av  the  arsenal  an* 
I  stripped  to  him,  an'  for  ten  minutes  'twas 
all  I  cud  do  to  prevent  him  killin'  himself 
against  my  fistes.  He  was  mad  as  a  dumb 


64  Soldiers  Three 

dog  —  just  frothing  wid  rage;  but  he  had 
no  chanst  wid  me  in  reach,  or  learnin',  or 
anything  else. 

'"Will  ye  hear  reason?'  sez  I,  whin  his 
first  wind  was  runnin'  out. 

" '  Not  whoile  I  can  see,'  sez  he.  Wid 
that  I  gave  him  both,  one  after  the  other, 
smash  through  the  low  gyard  that  he'd 
been  taught  whin  he  was  a  boy,  an'  the 
eyebrow  shut  down  on  the  cheek-bone  like 
the  wing  av  a  sick  crow. 

"'Will  you  hear  reason  now,  ye  brave 
man?'  sez  I. 

"  *  Not  whoile  I  can  speak,'  sez  he,  stag- 
gerin'  up  blind  as  a  stump.  I  was  loath  to 
do  ut,  but  I  wint  round  an'  swung  into  the 
jaw  side-on  an'  shifted  ut  a  half  pace  to  the 
lef. 

** '  Will  ye  hear  reason  now? '  sez  I ;  '  I 
can't  keep  my  timper  much  longer,  an'  'tis 
like  I  will  hurt  you.' 

" '  Not  whoile  I  can  stand,'  he  mumbles 
out  av  one  corner  av  his  mouth.  So  I 
closed  an'  threw  him  —  blind,  dumb,  an* 
sick,  an'  jammed  the  jaw  straight. 

"  *  You're  an  ould  fool,  Mister  Bragin/ 
sez  I. 

"'You're  a  young  thief,'  sez  he,  'an 
you've  bruk  my  heart,  you  an'  Annie  be- 
tune  you ! ' 

"  Thin  he  began  cryin'  like  a  child  as  he 
lay.  I  was  sorry  as  I  had  niver  been  be- 


The  Solid  Muldoon         65 

fore.    Tis  an  awful  thing  to  see  a  strong 
man  cry. 

" '  I'll  swear  on  the  cross ! '  sez  I. 

1 '  I  care  for  none  av  your  oaths,*  sez  he. 

" '  Come  back  to  your  quarters,'  sez  I, 
'an'  if  you  don't  believe  the  livin',  begad, 
you  shall  listen  to  the  dead,'  I  sez. 

"  I  hoisted  him  an'  tuk  him  back  to  his 
quarters.  '  Mrs.  Bragin,'  sez  I,  '  here's  a 
man  that  you  can  cure  quicker  than  me.' 

" '  You've  shamed  me  before  my  wife,' 
he  whimpers. 

"  '  Have  I  so? '  sez  I.  '  By  the  look  on 
Mrs.  Bragin's  face  I  think  I'm  in  for  a 
dhressin'-down  worse  than  I  gave  you.' 

"  An*  I  was !  Annie  Bragin  was  woild 
wid  indignation.  There  was  not  a  name 
that  a  dacint  woman  cud  use  that  was  not 
given  my  way.  I've  had  my  colonel  walk 
roun*  me  like  a  cooper  roun'  a  cask  for 
fifteen  minutes  in  ord'ly-room  bekaze  I 
wint  into  the  corner  shop  an  unstrapped 
lewnatic,  but  all  that  I  iver  tuk  from  his 
rasp  av  a  tongue  was  ginger-pop  to  fwhat 
Annie  tould  me.  An'  that,  mark  you,  is 
the  way  av  a  woman. 

"  Whin  ut  was  done  for  want  av  breath, 
an*  Annie  was  bendin'  over  her  husband,  I 
sez:  "Tis  all  thrue,  an'  I'm  a  blay  guard 
an'  you're  an  honest  woman;  but  will  you 
tell  him  of  wan  service  that  I  did  you?' 


66  Soldiers  Three 

"  As  I  finished  speakin'  the  corp'ril  man 
came  up  to  the  veranda,  an'  Annie  Bragin 
shquealed.  The  moon  was  up,  an'  we  cud 
see  his  face. 

" '  I  can't  find  her/  sez  the  corp'ril  man, 
an'  wint  out  like  the  puff  av  a  candle. 

" '  Saints  stand  betune  us  an'  evil ! '  sez 
Bragin,  crossin'  himself;  'that's  Flahy  av 
the  Tyrone  Rig'mint.' 

"  '  Who  was  he?  '  I  sez,  '  for  he  has  given 
me  a  dale  of  fightin'  this  day.' 

"  Bragin  tould  us  that  Flahy  was  a  corp'- 
ril who  lost  his  wife  av  cholera  in  those 
quarters  three  years  gone,  an'  wint  mad, 
an'  '  walked '  afther  they  buried  him, 
huntin'  for  her. 

'Well,'  sez  I  to  Bragin,  'he's  been 
hookin'  out  av  purgathory  to  kape  com- 
pany wid  Mrs.  Bragin  ivry  evenin'  for  the 
last  fortnight.  You  may  tell  Mrs.  Quinn, 
wid  my  love,  for  I  know  that  she's  been 
talkin'  to  you,  an'  you've  been  listening 
that  she  ought  to  ondherstand  the  differ 
'twixt  a  man  an'  a  ghost.  She's  had  three 
husbands,'  sez  I,  '  an'  you've  got  a  wife  too 
good  for  you.  Instid  av  which  you  lave 
her  to  be  boddered  by  ghosts  an' — an'  all 
manner  av  evil  spirruts.  I'll  niver  go 
talkin'  in  the  way  av  politeness  to  a  man's 
wife  again.  Good-night  to  you  both,'  sez 
I,  an'  wid  that  I  wint  away,  havin'  fought 
wid  woman,  man,  and  divil  all  in  the  heart 


The  Solid  Muldoon         67 

av  an  hour.  By  the  same  token  I  gave 
Father  Victor  wan  rupee  to  say  a  mass  for 
Flahy's  soul,  me  havin'  discommoded  him 
by  shticking  my  fist  into  his  systim." 

"  Your  ideas  of  politeness  seem  rather 
large,  Mulvaney,"  I  said. 

"  That's  as  you  look  at  ut,"  said  Mul- 
vaney, calmly;  "Annie  Bragin  niver  cared 
for  me.  For  all  that,  I  did  not  want  to 
leave  anything  behin'  me  that  Bragin  could 
take  hould  av  to  be  angry  wid  her  about  — 
whin  an  honust  wurrd  cud  ha'  cleared  all 
up.  There's  nothing  like  opin-speakin'. 
Orth'ris,  ye  scut,  let  me  put  me  oi  to  that 
bottle,  for  my  throat's  as  dhry  as  whin  I 
thought  I  wud  get  a  kiss  from  Annie 
Bragin.  An'  that's  fourteen  years  gone! 
Eyah!  Cork's  own  city  an'  the  blue  sky 
above  ut  —  an'  the  times  that  was  —  the 
times  that  was!" 


WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD 


Der  jungere  Uhlanen 

Sit  round  mit  open  mouth 

While  Breitmann  tell  dem  stdoriea 

Of  fightin'  in  the  South; 

Und  gif  dem  moral  lessons, 

How  before  der  battle  pops, 

Take  a  little  prayer  to  Himmel 

Und  a  goot  long  Drink  of  Schnapps. 

— Hans  Breitmann' s  £>  all  ads 

"  MARY,  Mother  av  Mercy,  f what  the 
divil  possist  us  to  take  an'  kape  this  malan- 
colius  counthry?  Answer  me  that,  sorr." 

It  was  Mulvaney  who  was  speaking. 
The  hour  was  one  o'clock  of  a  stifling  hot 
June  night,  and  the  place  was  the  main 
gate  of  Fort  Amara.  most  desolate  and 
least  desirable  of  all  fortresses  in  India. 
What  I  was  doing  there  at  that  hour  is  a 
question  which  only  concerns  McGrath,  the 
sergeant  of  the  guard,  and  the  men  on  the 
gate. 

"  Slape,"  said  Mulvaney,  "  is  a  shupar- 
fiuous  necessity.  This  gyard'll  sthay  lively 
till  relieved."  He  himself  was  stripped  to 
the  waist;  Learoyd  on  the  next  bedstead 

66 


With  the  Main  Guard      69 

was  dripping  from  the  skinful  of  water 
which  Ortheris,  arrayed  only  in  white 
trousers,  had  just  sluiced  over  his  shoul- 
ders; and  a  fourth  private  was  muttering 
uneasily  as  he  dozed  open-mouthed  in  the 
glare  of  the  great  guard-lantern.  The  heat 
under  the  bricked  archway  was  terrifying. 
*'  The  worrst  night  that  iver  I  remember. 
Eyah!  Is  all  hell  loose  this  tide?"  said 
Mulvaney.  A  puff  of  burning  wind  lashed 
through  the  wicket-gate  like  a  wave  of  the 
sea,  and  Ortheris  swore. 

"Are  ye  more  heasy,  Jock?"  he  said  to 
Learoyd.  "  Put  yer  'ead  between  your 
legs.  It'll  go  orf  in  a  minute." 

"  Ah  don't  care.  Ah  would  not  care,  but 
ma  heart  is  play  in'  tivvy-tivvy  on  ma  ribs. 
Let  me  die !  Oh,  leave  me  die ! "  groaned 
the  huge  Yorkshire  man,  who  was  feeling 
the  heat  acutely,  being  of  fleshly  build. 

The  sleeper  under  the  lantern  roused  for 
a  moment  and  raised  himself  on  his  elbow. 
"  Die  and  be  damned  then ! "  he  said. 
"  I'm  damned  and  I  can't  die!  " 

"Who's  that?"  I  whispered,  for  the 
voice  was  new  to  me. 

"  Gentleman  born,"  said  Mulvaney; 
"  Corp'ril  wan  year,  sargint  nex'.  Red-hot 
on  his  c'mission,  but  dhrinks  like  a  fish. 
He'll  be  gone  before  the  cowld  weather's 
here.  So!" 

He  slipped  his  boot,  and  with  the  naked 


70  Soldiers  Three 

toe  just  touched  the  trigger  of  his  Martini. 
Ortheris  misunderstood  the  movement,  and 
the  next  instant  the  Irishman's  rifle  was 
dashed  aside,  while  Ortheris  stood  before 
him,  his  eyes  blazing  with  reproof. 

"You!"  said  Ortheris.  "My  Gawd, 
you!  If  it  was  you,  wot  would  we  do?  " 

"  Kape  quiet,  little  man,"  said  Mulvaney, 
putting  him  aside,  but  very  gently;  "'tis 
not  me,  nor  will  ut  be  me  whoile  Dinah 
Shadd's  here.  I  was  but  showin'  some- 
thing." 

Learoyd,  bowed  on  his  bedstead, 
groaned,  and  the  gentleman  ranker  sighed 
in  his  sleep.  Ortheris  took  Mulvaney's 
tendered  pouch,  and  we  three  smoked 
gravely  for  a  space  while  the  dust-devils 
danced  on  the  glacis  and  scoured  the  red- 
hot  plain  without. 

"Pop?"  said  Ortheris,  wiping  his  fore- 
head. 

"  Don't  tantalize  wid  talkin'  av  dhrink, 
or  I'll  sthuff  you  into  your  own  breech- 
block an'  fire  you  oft" !  "  grunted  Mulvaney. 

Ortheris  chuckled,  and  from  a  niche  in 
the  veranda  produced  six  bottles  of 
gingerade. 

"Where  did  ye  get  ut,  ye  Machiavel?" 
said  Mulvaney.  "  Tis  no  bazaar  pop." 

"  'Ow  do  Hi  know  wot  the  orf'cers 
drink?"  answered  Ortheris.  "Arst  the 
mess-man." 


With  the  Main  Guard       71 

"  Ye'll  have  a  disthrict  coort-martial  set- 
tin'  on  ye  yet,  me  son,"  said  Mulvaney, 
"  but  " —  he  opened  a  bottle  — "  I  will  not 
report  ye  this  time.  F  what's  in  the  mess- 
kid  is  mint  for  the  belly,  as  they  say, 
'specially  whin  that  mate  is  dhrink.  Here's 
luck !  A  bloody  war  or  a  —  no,  we've  got 
the  sickly  season.  War,  thin ! " —  he 
waved  the  innocent  "  pop "  to  the  four 
quarters  of  heaven.  "  Bloody  war!  North, 
east,  south,  an'  west!  Jock,  ye  quakin' 
hayrick,  come  an'  dhrink." 

But  Learoyd,  half  mad  with  the  fear  of 
death  presaged  in  the  swelling  veins  of  his 
neck,  was  imploring  his  Maker  to  strike 
him  dead,  and  fighting  for  more  air  between 
his  prayers.  A  second  time  Ortheris 
drenched  the  quivering  body  with, water, 
and  the  giant  revived. 

"An'  Ah  divn't  see  thot  a  mon  is  i'  fet- 
tle for  gooin'  on  to  live;  an'  Ah  divn't  see 
thot  there  is  owt  for  t'  livin'  for.  Hear  now, 
lads!  Ah'm  tired  —  tired.  There's  nob- 
but  watter  i'  ma  bones.  Let  me  die!" 

The  hollow  of  the  arch  gave  back  Lea- 
royd's  broken  whisper  in  a  bass  boom. 
Mulvaney  looked  at  me  hopelessly,  but  I 
remembered  how  the  madness  of  despair 
had  once  fallen  upon  Ortheris,  that  weary, 
weary  afternoon  on  the  banks  of  the  Khemi 
River,  and  how  it  had  been  exorcised  by 
the  skillful  magician  Mulvaney. 


72  Soldiers  Three 

"Talk,  Terence!"  I  said,  "or  we  shall 
have  Learoyd  slinging  loose,  and  he'll  be 
worse  than  Ortheris  was.  Talk!  He'll 
answer  to  your  voice." 

Almost  before  Ortheris  had  deftly 
thrown  all  the  rifles  of  the  guard  on  Mul- 
vaney's  bedstead,  the  Irishman's  voice  was 
uplifted  as  that  of  one  in  the  middle  of  a 
story,  and,  turning  to  me,  he  said: 

"  In  barricks  or  out  of  it,  as  you  say,  sorr, 
an  Oirish  rig'mint  is  the  divil  an'  more.  Tis 
only  fit  for  a  young  man  wid  eddicated  fist- 
eses.  Oh,  the  crame  av  disruption  is  an 
Oirish  rig'mint,  an'  rippin',  tearin',  ragin' 
scattherers  in  the  field  av  war!  My  first 
rig'mint  was  Oirish  —  Faynians  an'  rebils 
to  the  heart  av  their  marrow  was  they,  an' 
so  they  fought  for  the  widdy  betther  than 
most,  bein'  contrary  —  Oirish.  They  was 
the  Black  Tyrone.  You've  heard  av  thim, 
sorr?" 

Heard  of  them!  I  knew  the  Black 
Tyrone  for  the  choicest  collection  of  unmiti- 
gated blackguards,  dog-stealers,  robbers  of 
hen-roosts,  assaulters  of  innocent  citizens, 
and  recklessly  daring  heroes  in  the  Army 
List.  Half  Europe  and  half  Asia  has  had 
cause  to  know  the  Black  Tyrone  —  good 
luck  be  with  their  tattered  colors  as  glory 
has  ever  been! 

"  They  was  hot  pickils  an'  ginger!  I  cut 
a  man's  head  tu  deep  wid  my  belt  in  the 


With  the  Main  Guard       73 

days  av  my  youth,  an',  afther  some  circum- 
stances which  I  will  oblitherate,  I  came  to 
the  ould  rig'mint,  bearin'  the  character  av  a 
man  wid  hands  an'  feet.  But,  as  I  was  goin' 
to  tell  you,  I  fell  acrost  the  Black  Tyrone 
ag'in  wan  day  whin  we  wanted  thim  power- 
ful bad.  Orth'ris,  me  son,  fwhat  was  the 
name  av  that  place  where  they  sint  wan 
comp'ny  av  us  an'  wan  av  the  Tyrone  roun' 
a  hill  an'  down  again,  all  for  to  tache  the 
Paythans  something  they'd  niver  learned 
before?  After  Ghuzni  'twas." 

"  Don't  know  what  the  bloomin'  Pay- 
thans called  it.  We  called  it  Silver's  Theay- 
ter.  You  know  that,  sure!  " 

"Silver's  Theater  —  so  'twas.  A  gut 
betune  two  hills,  as  black  as  a  bucket,  an* 
as  thin  as  a  gurl's  waist.  There  was  over- 
many  Paythans  for  our  convaynience  in  the 
gut,  an'  begad  they  called  thimselves  a 
reserve  —  bein'  impident  by  natur!  Our 
Scotchies  an'  lashins  av  Gurkys  was  pound- 
in'  into  some  Paythan  rig'mints,  I  think 
'twas.  Scotchies  an'  Gurkys  are  twins  be- 
kaze  they're  so  onlike,  an'  they  get  dhrunk 
together  whin  God  plazes.  Well,  as  I  was 
savin',  they  sint  wan  comp'ny  av  the  Ould 
an'  wan  av  the  Tyrone  to  double  up  the  hill 
an'  clane  out  the  Paythan  reserve.  Orf'cers 
was  scarce  in  thim  days,  fwhat  wid  dysintry 
an'  not  takin'  care  av  thimselves,  an'  we  was 
sint  out  wid  only  wan  orf'cer  for  the  com- 


74  Soldiers  Three 

p'ny;  but  he  was  a  man  that  had  his  feet 
beneath  him,  an'  all  his  teeth  in  their 
sockuts." 

"  Who  was  he?  "  I  asked. 

"  Captain  O'Neil  —  Old  Crook  —  Cruik- 
na-bulleen —  him  that  I  tould  ye  that  tale 
av  whin  he  was  in  Burmah.  Hah!  He  was 
a  man.  The  Tyrone  tuk  a  little  orf'cer  bhov, 
but  divil  a  bit  was  he  in  command,  as  I'll 
dimonstrate  presintly.  We  an'  they  came 
over  the  brow  av  the  hill,  wan  on  each  side 
av  the  gut,  an'  there  was  that  ondacint 
reserve  waitin'  down  below  like  rats  in  a 
pit. 

' '  Howld  on,  men/  sez  Crook,  who  tuk 
a  mother's  care  av  us  always.  '  Rowl  some 
rocks  on  thim  by  way  av  visitin'-kyards.' 
We  hadn't  rowled  more  than  twinty  bowl- 
ders, an'  the  Paythans  was  beginnin'  to 
swear  tremenjus,  whin  the  little  orf'cer  bhoy 
av  the  Tyrone  shqueaks  out  acrost  the 
valley:  '  Fwhat  the  devil  an'  all  are  you 
doin',  shpoilin'  the  fun  for  my  men.  Do  ye 
not  see  they'll  stand? ' 

"Faith,  that's  a  rare  pluckt  wan!'  sez 
Crook.  '  Niver  mind  the  rocks,  men.  Come 
along  down  an'  take  tay  wid  thim ! ' 

" '  There's  damned  little  sugar  in  ut! '  sez 
my  rear-rank  man ;  but  Crook  heard. 

'"Have  ye  not  all  got  spoons?'  he  sez, 
laughin',  an'  down  we  wint  as  fast  as  we 


With  the  Main  Guard      75 

cud.  Learoyd  bein'  sick  at  the  base,  he,  av 
coorse,  was  not  there." 

"  Thot's  a  lie !  "  said  Learoyd,  dragging 
his  bedstead  nearer.  "  Ah  gotten  thot  theer, 
an'  you  knaw  it,  Mulvaney."  He  threw  up 
his  arms,  and  from  the  right  armpit  ran, 
diagonally  through  the  fell  of  his  chest,  a 
thin  white  line  terminating  near  the  fourth 
left  rib. 

"  My  mind's  goin',"  said  Mulvaney,  the 
unabashed.  "  Ye  were  there.  Fwhat  was 
I  thinkin'  of?  'Twas  another  man,  av 
coorse.  Well,  you'll  remimber  thin,  Jock, 
how  we  an'  the  Tyrone  met  wid  a  bang  at 
the  bottom  an'  got  jammed  past  all  movin' 
among  the  Paythans." 

"  Ow!  It  wos  a  tight  'ole.  Hi  was 
squeeged  till  I  thought  I'd  bloomin'  well 
bust,"  said  Ortheris,  rubbing  his  stomach 
meditatively. 

"  'Twas  no  place  for  a  little  man,  but  wan 
little  man  " —  Mulvaney  put  his  hand  on 
Ortheris's  shoulder — "  saved  the  life  av  me. 
There  we  shtuck,  for  divil  a  bit  did  the 
Paythans  flinch,  an'  divil  a  bit  dare  we;  our 
business  bein'  to  clear  'em  out.  An'  the 
most  exthryordinar'  thing  av  all  was  that 
we  an'  they  just  rushed  into  each  other's 
arrums,  an'  there  was  no  firing  for  a  long 
time.  Nothin'  but  knife  an'  bay'nit  when 
we  cud  get  our  hands  free;  that  was  not 
often.  We  was  breast  on  to  thim,  an'  the 


76  Soldiers  Three 

Tyrone  was  yelpin'  behind  av  us  in  a  way 
I  didn't  see  the  lean  av  at  first.  But  I  knew 
later,  an'  so  did  the  Paythans. 

" '  Knee  to  knee ! '  sings  out  Crook,  wid 
a  laugh  whin  the  rush  av  our  comin'  into 
the  gut  shtopped,  an'  he  was  huggin'  a 
hairy  great  Paythan,  neither  bein'  able  to 
do  anything  to  the  other,  tho'  both  was 
wishful. 

" '  Breast  to  breast! '  he  says,  as  the 
Tyrone  was  pushin'  us  forward  closer  an' 
closer. 

" '  And  hand  over  back ! '  sez  a  sargint 
that  was  behin'.  I  saw  a  sword  lick  out  past 
Crook's  ear  like  a  snake's  tongue,  an'  the 
Paythan  was  tuk  in  the  apple  av  his  throat 
like  a  pig  at  Dromeen  fair. 

"'Thank  ye,  Brother  Inner  Guard/  sez 
Crook,  cool  as  a  cucumber  widout  salt.  *  I 
wanted  that  room.'  An'  he  wint  forward  by 
the  thickness  av  a  man's  body,  havin'  turned 
the  Paythan  undher  him.  The  man  bit  the 
heel  off  Crook's  boot  in  his  death-bite. 

"Push,  men!'  sez  Crook.  'Push,  ye 
paper-backed  beggars!'  he  sez.  'Am  I  to 
pull  ye  through?'  So  we  pushed,  an'  we 
kicked,  an'  we  swung,  an'  we  swore,  an'  the 
grass  bein'  slippery,  our  heels  wouldn't  bite, 
an'  God  help  the  front-rank  man  that  wint 
down  that  day!" 

"  'Ave  you  ever  bin  in  the  pit  hentrance 
o*  the  Vic.  on  a  thick  night?"  interrupted 


With  the  Main  Guard       77 

Ortheris.  "  It  was  worse  nor  that,  for  they 
was  goin'  one  way,  and  we  wouldn't  'ave 
it  Leastaways,  Hi  'adn't  much  to  say." 

"  Faith,  me  son,  ye  said  ut,  thin.  I  kep' 
the  little  man  betune  my  knees  as  long  as  I 
cud,  but  he  was  pokin'  roun'  wid  his  bay'nit, 
blindin'  an'  stiffin'  feroshus.  The  devil  of  a 
man  is  Orth'ris  in  a  ruction  —  aren't  ye?" 
said  Mulvaney. 

"Don't  make  game!"  said  the  cockney. 
"  I  knowed  I  wasn't  no  good  then,  but  I 
guv  'em  compot  from  the  lef  flank  when 
we  opened  out.  No!"  he  said,  bringing 
down  his  hand  with  a  thump  on  the  bed- 
stead, "  a  bay'nit  ain't  no  good  to  a  little 
man — might  as  well  'ave  a  bloomin'  fishin'- 
rod!  I  'ate  a  clawin',  maulin'  mess,  but 
gimme  a  breech  that's  wore  out  a  bit,  an* 
hamminition  one  year  in  store,  to  let  the 
powder  kiss  the  bullet,  an'  put  me  some- 
wheres  where  I  ain't  trod  on  by  'ulkin' 
swine  like  you,  an'  s'elp  me  Gawd,  I  could 
bowl  you  over  five  times  outer  seven  at 
height  'undred.  Would  yer  try,  you  lum- 
berin'  Hirishman?  " 

"  No,  ye  wasp.  I've  seen  ye  do  ut.  I 
say  there's  nothin'  better  than  the  bay'nit, 
wid  a  long  reach,  a  double  twist  ave  ye  can, 
an'  a  slow  recover." 

"  Dom  the  bay'nit,"  said  Learoyd,  who 
had  been  listening  intently.  "  Look-a- 
here! "  He  picked  up  a  rifle  an  inch  below 


78  Soldiers  Three 

the  foresight  with  an  underhanded  action, 
and  used  it  exactly  as  a  man  would  use  a 
dagger. 

"Sitha,"  said  he,  softly,  "thot's  better 
than  owt,  for  a  man  can  bash  t'  face  wi' 
thot,  an',  if  he  divn't,  he  can  breeak  t'  fore- 
arm o'  t'  gaard.  Tis  not  i'  t'  books, 
though.  Gie  me  t'  butt." 

"  Each  does  ut  his  own  way,  like  makin' 
love,"  said  Mulvaney,  quietly;  "the  butt  or 
the  bay'nit  or  the  bullet  accordin'  to  the 
natur'  av  the  man.  Well,  as  I  was  sayin', 
we  shtuck  there  breathin'  in  each  other's 
faces  an'  swearin'  powerful,  Orth'ris  cursin' 
the  mother  that  bore  him  bekaze  he  was 
not  three  inches  taller. 

"  Prisintly  he  sez:  *  Duck,  ye  lump,  an'  I 
can  get  at  a  man  over  your  shouldher!  " 

" '  You'll  blow  me  head  off,'  I  sez,  throw- 
in'  my  arm  clear;  'go  through  under  my 
armpit,  ye  bloodthirsty  little  scut,'  sez  I, 
'  but  don't  shtick  me  or  I'll  wring  your 
ears  round.' 

"  Fwhat  was  ut  ye  gave  the  Paythan  man 
forninst  me,  him  that  cut  at  me  whin  I 
cudn't  move  hand  or  foot?  Hot  or  cowld, 
was  ut?  " 

"  Cold,"  said  Ortheris,  "  up  an'  under  the 
rib-jint.  'E  come  down  flat.  Best  for  you 
'e  did." 

"Thrue,  my  son!  This  jam  thing  that 
I'm  talkin'  about  lasted  for  five  minutes 


With  the  Main  Guard       79 

good,  an'  thin  we  got  our  arms  clear  an* 
wint  in.  I  misremimber  exactly  fwhat  I 
did,  but  I  didn't  want  Dinah  to  be  a  widdy 
at  the  Depot.  Thin,  after  some  promishk- 
uous  hackin'  we  shtuck  again,  an'  the 
Tyrone  behin'  was  callin'  us  dogs  an' 
cowards  an'  all  manner  av  names;  we  bar- 
rin'  their  way. 

"'Fwhat  ails  the  Tyrone?'  thinks  I; 
'  they've  the  makin's  av  a  most  convanient 
fight  here.' 

"  A  man  behind  me  sez  beseechful  an' 
in  a  whisper;  'Let  me  get  at  thim!  For 
the  love  av  Mary  give  me  room  beside  ye, 
ye  tall  man ! ' 

" '  An'  who  are  you  that's  so  anxious  to 
be  kilt?'  sez  I,  widout  turnin*  my  head,  for 
the  long  knives  was  dancin'  in  front  like 
the  sun  on  Donegal  Bay  whin  ut's  rough. 

"  '  We've  seen  our  dead,'  he  sez,  squeezin' 
into  me;  'our  dead  that  was  men  two  days 
gone!  An'  me  that  was  his  cousin  by  blood 
could  not  bring  Tim  Coulan  off!  Let  me 
get  on/  he  sez,  '  let  me  get  to  thim  or  I'll 
run  ye  through  the  back ! ' 

'"My  troth,'  thinks  I,  'if  the  Tyrone 
have  seen  their  dead,  God  help  the  Pay- 
thans  this  day ! '  An'  thin  I  knew  why  the 
Oirish  was  ragin'  behind  us  as  they  was. 

"  I  gave  room  to  the  man,  and  he  ran 
forward  wid  the  Haymakers'  Lift  on  his 
bay'nit  an'  swung  a  Paythan  clear  off  his 


80  Soldiers  Three 

feet  by  the  belly-band  av  the  brute,  an*  the 
iron  bruk  at  the  lockin'-ring. 

" '  Tim  Coulan'll  slape  aisy  to-night,"  sez 
he  wid  a  grin;  an'  the  next  minut  his  head 
was  in  two  halves  and  he  wint  down  grin- 
nin'  by  sections. 

"  The  Tyrone  was  pushin'  an'  pushin' 
in,  an'  our  men  was  swearin'  at  thim,  an' 
Crook  was  workin'  away  in  front  av  us  all, 
his  sword-arm  swingin'  like  a  pump-handle 
an'  his  revolver  spittin'  like  a  cat.  But  the 
strange  thing  av  ut  was  the  quiet  that  lay 
upon.  'Twas  like  a  fight  in  a  drame  — 
except  for  thim  that  was  dead. 

"  Whin  I  gave  room  to  the  Oirishman  I 
was  expinded  an'  forlorn  in  my  inside. 
Tis  a  way  I  have,  savin'  your  prisince,  sorr, 
in  action.  '  Let  me  out,  bhoys,'  sez  I, 
backin'  in  among  thim.  '  I'm  goin'  to  be 
onwell ! '  Faith  they  gave  me  room  at  the 
wurrud,  though  they  would  not  ha'  given 
room  for  all  hell  wid  the  chill  off.  When  I 
got  clear,  I  was,  savin'  your  presince,  sorr, 
outragis  sick  bekaze  I  had  dhrunk  heavy 
that  day. 

"Well  an'  far  out  av  harm  was  a  sargint 
av  the  Tyrone  sittin'  on  the  little  orf'cer 
bhoy  who  had  stopped  Crook  from  rowlin' 
the  rocks.  Oh,  he  was  a  beautiful  bhoy, 
an'  the  long  black  curses  was  sliding  out  av 
his  innocint  mouth  like  mornm'-jev,r  from  a 
rose! 


With  the  Main  Guard       8 1 

" '  Fwhat  have  you  got  there? '  sez  I  to 
the  sargint. 

"  '  Wan  av  her  majesty's  bantams  wid  his 
spurs  up/  sez  he.  '  He's  goin'  to  coort- 
martial  me.' 

" '  Let  me  go! '  sez  the  little  orf  cer  bhoy. 
'  Let  me  go  and  command  my  men ! ' 
mainin'  thereby  the  Black  Tyrone,  which 
was  beyond  any  command  —  ay,  even  av 
they  had  made  the  divil  a  field-orf'cer. 

" '  His  father  howlds  my  mother's  cow- 
feed  in  Clonmel,'  sez  the  man  that  was 
sittin'  on  him.  'Will  I  go  back  to  his 
mother  an'  tell  her  that  I've  let  him  throw 
himself  away?  Lie  still,  ye  little  pinch  av 
dynamite,  an'  coort-martial  me  afther- 
wards.' 

" '  Good,'  sez  I ;  '  'tis  the  likes  av  him 
makes  the  likes  av  the  commandher-in- 
chief,  but  we  must  presarve  thim.  Fwhat 
d'  you  want  to  do,  sorr?'  sez  I,  very 
politeful. 

"'Kill  the  beggars  —  kill  the  beggars!' 
he  shqueaks;  his  big  blue  eyes  fairly 
brimmin'  wid  tears. 

" '  An'  how'll  ye  do  that? '  sez  I.  '  You've 
shquibbed  off  your  revolver  like  a  child  wid 
a  cracker;  you  can  make  no  play  wid  that 
fine  large  sword  av  yours;  an'  your  hand's 
shakin'  like  an  asp  on  a  leaf.  Lie  still  and 
grow,'  sez  I. 


82  Soldiers  Three 

" '  Get  back  to  your  comp'ny,'  sez  he; 
'you're  insolint! ' 

" '  All  in  good  time,'  sez  I,  '  but  I'll  have 
a  dhrink  first.' 

"Just  thin  Crook  comes  up,  blue  an' 
white  all  over  where  he  wasn't  red. 

"'Wather!'  sez  he;  'I'm  dead  wid 
drouth!  Oh,  but  it's  a  gran'  day! ' 

"  He  dhrank  half  a  skinful,  and  the  rest 
he  tilts  into  his  chest,  an'  it  fair  hissed  on 
the  hairy  hide  av  him.  He  sees  the  little 
orf'cer  boy  undher  the  sargint. 

"  '  F what's  yonder? '  sez  he. 

" '  Mutiny,  sorr,'  sez  the  sargint,  an'  the 
orf'cer  bhoy  begins  pleadin'  pitiful  to  Crook 
to  be  let  go;  but  divil  a  bit  wud  Crook 
budge.' 

" '  Kape  him  there,'  he  sez,  '  'tis  no 
child's  work  this  day.  By  the  same  token,' 
sez  he,  '  I'll  confishcate  that  iligant  nickel- 
plated  scent-sprinkler  av  yours,  for  my  own 
has  been  vomitin'  dishgraceful ! ' 

"  The  fork  av  his  hand  was  black  wid  the 
back-spit  av  the  machine.  So  he  tuk  the 
orf'cer  bhoy's  revolver.  Ye  may,  look,  sorr, 
but,  by  my  faith,  there's  a  dale  more  done 
in  the  field  than  iver  gets  into  field  ordhers ! 
' '  Come  on,  Mulvaney/  sez  Crook ;  '  is 
this  a  coort-martial  ?  '  The  two  av  us  wint 
back  together  into  the  mess  an'  the  Pay- 
thans  were  still  standin'  up.  They  was  not 
too  impart'nint  though,  for  the  Tyrone  was 


With  the  Main  Guard       83 

callin'  wan  to  another  to  remimber  Tim 
Coulan. 

"  Crook  stopped  outside  av  the  strife  an* 
looked  anxious,  his  eyes  rowlin'  roun'. 

"  '  Fwhat  is  ut,  sorr? '  sez  I; '  can  I  get  ye 
anything?' 

" '  Where's  a  bugler? '  sez  he. 

"  I  wint  into  the  crowd  —  our  men  was 
dhrawin'  breath  behin'  the  Tyrone,  who 
was  fightin'  like  sowls  in  tormint  —  an* 
prisintly  I  come  acrost  little  Frehan,  our 
bugler  bhoy,  pokin'  roun'  among  the  best 
wid  a  rifle  an'  bay'nit. 

" '  Is  amusin'  yoursilf  fwhat  you're  paid 
for,  ye  limb?'  sez  I,  catchin'  him  by  the 
scruff.  '  Come  out  av  that  an'  attind  to  your 
duty/  I  sez;  but  the  bhoy  was  not  pleased. 

" '  I've  got  wan,'  sez  he,  grinm'n',  '  big  as 
you,  Mulvaney,  an'  fair  half  as  ugly.  Let 
me  go  get  another.' 

"  I  was  dishpleased  at  the  personality  av 
that  remark,  so  I  tucks  him  under  my  arm 
an'  carries  him  to  Crook,  who  was  watchin' 
how  the  fight  wint.  Crook  cuffs  him  till 
the  bhoy  cries,  an'  thin  sez  nothin'  for  a 
whoile. 

"The  Paythans  began  to  flicker  onaisy, 
an'  our  men  roared.  '  Opin  ordher! 
Double!'  sez  Crook.  'Blow,  child,  blow 
for  the  honor  av  the  British  arrmy ! ' 

"  That  bhoy  blew  like  a  typhoon,  an'  the 
Tyrone  an'  we  opined  out  as  the  Paythans 


84  Soldiers  Three 

broke,  an'  I  saw  that  fwhat  had  gone 
before  wud  be  kissin'  an'  huggin'  to  fwhat 
was  to  come.  We'd  dhruv  thim  into  a 
broad  part  av  the  gut  whin  they  gave,  an' 
thin  we  opined  out  an'  fair  danced  down 
the  valley,  dhrivin'  thim  before  us.  On, 
'twas  lovely,  an'  stiddy,  too!  There  was 
the  sargints  on  the  flanks  av  what  was  left 
av  us,  kapin'  touch,  an'  the  fire  was  runnin' 
from  flank  to  flank,  an'  the  Paythans  was 
dhroppin'.  We  opined  out  wid  the  widenin' 
av  the  valley,  an'  whin  the  valley  narrowed 
we  closed  again  like  the  sthicks  on  a  lady's 
fan,  an'  at  the  bar  ind  av  the  gut  where 
they  thried  to  stand,  we  fair  blew  them  oft" 
their  feet,  for  we  had  expinded  very  little 
ammunition  by  reason  av  the  knife  work." 

"  Hi  used  thirty  rounds  goin'  down  that 
valley,"  said  Ortheris,  "  an'  it  was  gentle- 
man's work.  Might  'a'  done  it  in  a  white 
'andkerchief  an'  pink  silk  stockin's,  that 
part.  Hi  was  on  in  that  piece." 

"  You  could  ha'  heard  the  Tyrone  yellin' 
a  mile  away,"  said  Mulvaney,  "  an'  'twas 
all  their  sargints  cud  do  to  get  thim  off. 
They  was  mad  —  mad  —  mad !  Crook  sits 
down  in  the  quiet  that  fell  whin  he  had  gone 
down  the  valley,  an'  covers  his  face  wid  his 
hands.  Prisintly  we  all  came  back  again 
accordin'  to  our  natures  and  disposishins, 
for  they,  mark  you,  show  through  the  hide 
av  a  man  in  that  hour. 


With  the  Main  Guard       85 

"  'Bhoys !  bhoys ! '  sez  Crook  to  himself 
*  I  misdoubt  we  could  ha'  engaged  at  long 
range  an'  saved  betther  men  than  me.'  He 
looked  at  our  dead  an'  said  no  more. 

"  '  Captain  dear,'  sez  a  man  av  the  Tyrone 
comin'  up  wid  his  mouth  bigger  than  iver 
his  mother  kissed  ut,  spittin'  blood  like  a 
whale ;  '  captain  dear,'  sez  he,  '  if  wan  or 
two  in  the  sthalls  have  been  discommoded, 
the  gallery  have  enjoyed  the  performinces 
av  a  Roshus.' 

"  Thin  I  knew  that  man  for  the  Dublin 
dock-rat  he  was  —  wan  av  the  bhoys  that 
made  the  lessee  av  Silver's  Theater  gray 
before  his  time  wid  tearin'  out  the  bowils 
av  the  benches  an'  t'rowin'  thim  into  the  pit. 
So  I  passed  the  wurrud  that  I  knew  when 
I  was  in  the  Tyrone,  an'  we  lay  in  Dublin. 
'  I  don't  know  who  'twas/  I  whispers,  '  an' 
I  don't  care,  but  any  ways  I'll  knock  the 
face  av  you,  Tim  Kelley/ 

"  '  Eyah ! '  sez  the  man,  *  was  you  there, 
too?  We'll  call  ut  Silver's  Theater.'  Half 
the  Tyrone,  knowin'  the  ould  place,  tuk  ut 
up:  so  we  called  ut  Silver's  Theater. 

"  The  little  orf'cer  bhoy  av  the  Tyrone 
was  thrimblin'  an'  cryin'.  He  had  no  heart 
for  the  coort  martials  that  he  talked  so  big 
upon.  '  Ye'll  do  well  later/  sez  Crook, 
very  quiet,  'for  not  bein'  allowed  to  kill 
yourself  for  arnusemint/ 


86  Soldiers  Three 

"  '  I'm  a  dishgraced  man! '  sez  the.  little 
orf  cer  bhoy. 

"  '  Put  me  undher  arrest,  sorr,  if  you  will, 
but,  by  my  sowl,  I'd  do  ut  again  sooner 
than  face  your  mother  wid  you  dead,'  sez 
the  sargint  that  had  sat  on  his  head, 
standin'  to  attention  an'  salutin'.  But  the 
young  wan  only  cried  as  tho'  his  little 
heart  was  breakin'. 

V  Thin  another  man  av  the  Tyrone  came 
up,  wid  the  fog  av  fighting'  on  him." 

"  The  what,  Mulvaney?  " 

"  Fog  av  fightin'.  You  know,  sorr,  that, 
like  makin'  love,  ut  takes  each  man  diffrint. 
Now,  I  can't  help  bein'  powerful  sick  whin 
I'm  in  action.  Orth'ris,  here,  niver  stops 
swearin'  from  ind  to  ind,  an'  the  only  time 
that  Learoyd  opins  his  mouth  to  sing  is 
whin  he  is  messin'  wid  other  people's  heads ; 
for  he's  a  dhirty  fighter  is  Jock  Learoyd. 
Recruities  sometime  cry,  an'  sometime  they 
don't  know  fwhat  they  do,  an'  sometime 
they  are  all  for  cuttin'  throats,  an'  such 
like  dirtiness ;  but  some  men  get  heavy- 
dead  dhrunk  on  the  fightin'.  This  man 
was.  He  was  staggerin',  an'  his  eyes  were 
half  shut,  an'  we  cud  hear  him  dhraw 
breath  twinty  yards  away.  He  sees  the 
little  orf'cer  bhoy,  an'  comes  up,  talkin' 
thick  an'  drowsy  to  himsilf.  '  Blood  the 
young  whelp ! '  he  sez ;  '  blood  the  young 
whelp ; '  an'  wid  that  he  threw  up  his  arms, 


With  the  Main  Guard       87 

shpun  roun',  an'  dropped  at  our  feet,  dead 
as  a  Paythan,  an'  there  was  niver  sign  or 
scratch  on  him.  They  said  'twas  his  heart 
was  rotten,  but  oh,  'twas  a  quare  thing  to 
see! 

"  Thin  we  wint  to  bury  our  dead,  for  we 
wud  not  lave  them  to  the  Paythans,  an' 
in  movin'  among  the  haythen  we  nearly  lost 
that  little  orf'cer  bhoy.  He  was  for  givin' 
wan  divil  wather  and  layin'  him  aisy  against 
a  rock.  '  Be  careful,  sorr,'  sez  I ;  'a 
wounded  Paythan's  worse  than  a  live  wan.' 
My  troth,  before  the  words  was  out  of  my 
mouth,  the  man  on  the  ground  fires  at  the 
orf'cer  bhoy  lanin'  over  him,  an'  I  saw  the 
helmit  fly.  I  dropped  the  butt  on  the  face 
av  the  man  an'  tuk  his  pistol.  The  little 
orf'cer  boy  turned  very  white,  for  the  hair 
av  half  his  head  was  singed  away. 

"  'I  tould  you  so,  sorr ! '  sez  I ;  an'  afther 
that,  whin  he  wanted  to  help  a  Paythan  I 
stud  wid  the  muzzle  contagious  to  the  ear. 
They  dare  not  do  anythin'  but  curse.  The 
Tyrone  was  growlin'  like  dogs  over  a  bone 
that  has  been  taken  away  too  soon,  for  they 
had  seen  their  dead  an'  they  wanted  to  kill 
ivery  sowl  on  the  ground.  Crook  tould 
thim  that  he'd  blow  the  hide  off  any  man 
that  misconducted  himself;  but,  seeing  that 
ut  was  the  first  time  the  Tyrone  had  iver 
seen  their  dead,  I  do  not  wondher  they 
were  on  the  sharp.  'Tis  a  shameful  sight! 


88  Soldiers  Three 

Whin  I  first  saw  ut  I  wud  niver  ha'  given 
quarter  to  any  man  north  of  the  Khaibar  — 
no,  nor  woman  either,  for  the  women  used 
to  come  out  afther  dhark  —  Anggrh! 

"  Well,  evenshually  we  buried  our  dead 
an'  tuk  away  our  wounded,  an'  come  over 
the  brow  av  the  hills  to  see  the  Scotchies 
an'  the  Gurkys  taking  tay  with  the  Pay- 
thans  in  bucketsfuls.  We  were  a  gang  av 
dissolute  ruffians,  for  the  blood  had  caked 
the  dust,  an'  the  sweat  had  cut  the  cake, 
an'  our  baynits  was  hangin'  like  butcher's 
steels  one  way  or  another. 

"  A  staff  orf'cer  man,  clean  as  a  new 
rifle,  rides  up  an'  sez: '  What  damned  scare- 
crows are  you  ? ' 

" '  A  company  av  her  majesty's  Black 
Tyrone,  an*  wan  av  the  ould  rig'mint,'  sez 
Crook  very  quiet,  givin'  our  visitors  the 
flure  as  'twas. 

"Oh!'  sez  the  staff  orf'cer;  'did  you 
dislodge  that  reserve? ' 

" '  No ! '  sez  Crook,  an'  the  Tyrone 
laughed. 

'Thin  fwhat  the  divil  have  ye  done?' 

" '  Desthroyed  ut,'  sez  Crook,  an'  he  took 
us  on,  but  not  before  Toomey  that  was  in 
the  Tyrone  sez  aloud,  his  voice  somewhere 
in  his  stummick:  'Fwhat  in  the  name  av 
misfortune  does  this  parrit  widout  a  tail 
mane  by  shtoppin'  the  road  av  his 
betthers?' 


With  the  Main  Guard       89 

"  The  staff  orf'cer  wint  blue,  and  Toomey 
makes  him  pink  by  changin'  to  the  voice 
av  a  minowderin'  woman  an'  sayin'; 
'  Come  an'  kiss  me,  major  dear,  for  me 
husband's  at  the  wars  an'  I'm  all  alone 
at  the  depot.' 

"  The  staff  orf'cer  wint  away,  an'  I  cud 
see  Crook's  shoulthers  shakin'. 

"  His  corp'ril  checks  Toomey.  *  Lave 
me  alone,'  sez  Toomey,  widout  a  wink. 
'  I  was  his  batman  before  he  was  married 
an'  he  knows  fwhat  I  mane,  av  you  don't. 
There's  nothin'  like  livin'  in  the  hoight  av 
society.'  D'you  remimber  that,  Orth'ris!  " 

"  Hi  do,  Toomey,  'e  died  in  'orspital, 
next  week  it  was,  'cause  I  bought  'arf  his 
kit;  an'  I  remember  after  that — " 

"  GUARRD,  TURN  OUT!  " 

The  relief  had  come;  it  was  four  o'clock. 
"  I'll  catch  a  kyart  for  you,  sorr,"  said  Mul- 
vaney,  diving  hastily  into  his  accouter- 
ments.  "  Come  up  to  the  top  av  the  fort 
an'  we'll  pershue  our  invistigations  into 
McGrath's  shtable."  The  relieved  guard 
strolled  round  the  main  bastion  on  its  way 
to  the  swimming-bath,  and  Learoyd  grew 
almost  talkative.  Ortheris  looked  into  the 
fort  ditch  and  across  the  plain.  "  Ho!  it's 
weary  waitin'  for  Ma-ary ! "  he  hummed ; 
"  but  I'd  like  to  kill  some  more  bloomin' 
Paythans  before  my  time's  up.  War! 


90  Soldiers  Three 

Bloody  war!  North,  east,  south,  and 
west." 

"  Amen,"  said  Learoyd,  slowly. 

"  Fwhat's  here?"  said  Mulvaney,  check- 
ing at  a  blur  of  white  by  the  foot  of  the 
old  sentry  box.  He  stopped  and 
touched  it.  "  It's  Norah  —  Norah  McTag- 
gart!  Why,  Nonie  darlin',  fwhat  are  ye 
doin'  out  av  vour  mother's  bed  at  this 
time?  " 

The  two-year-old  child  of  Sergeant 
McTaggart  must  have  wandered  for  a 
breath  of  cool  air  to  the  very  verge  of  the 
parapet  of  the  fort  ditch.  Her  tiny  night- 
shift  was  gathered  into  a  wisp  round  her 
neck  and  she  moaned  in  her  sleep.  "  See 
there!"  said  Mulvaney;  "poor  lamb! 
Look  at  the  heat-rash  on  the  innocint  skin 
av  her.  'Tis  hard  —  crool  hard  even  for 
us.  Fwhat  must  it  be  for  these?  Wake 
up,  Nonie,  your  mother  will  be  woild 
about  you.  Begad,  the  child  might  ha' 
fallen  into  the  ditch !  " 

He  picked  her  up  in  the  growing  light, 
and  set  her  on  his  shoulder,  and  her  fair 
curls  touched  the  grizzled  stubble  of  his 
temples.  Ortheris  and  Learoyd  followed 
snapping  their  fingers,  while  Norah  smiled 
at  them  a  sleepy  smile.  Then  caroled  Mul- 
vaney, clear  as  a  lark,  dancing  the  baby  on 
his  arm: 


With  the  Main  Guard       91 

•'If  any  young  man  should  marry  you. 

Say  nothin"  about  the  joke; 
That  iver  ye  slep'  in  a  sinthry  box. 
Wrapped  up  in  a  soldier's  cloak. 

"Though,  on  my  soul,  Ncnie,"  he  said, 
gravely,  "  there  was  not  much  cloak  about 
you.  Niver  mind,  you  won't  dhress  like 
this  ten  years  to  come.  Kiss  your  friends 
an'  run  along  to  your  mother." 

Nonie,  set  down  close  to  the  married 
quarters,  nodded  with  the  quiet  obedience 
of  the  soldier's  child,  but,  ere  she  pattered 
off  over  the  flagged  path,  held  up  her  lips 
to  be  kissed  by  the  three  musketeers. 
Ortheris  wiped  his  mouth  with  the  back 
of  his  hand  and  swore  sentimentally;  Lea- 
royd  turned  pink ;  and  the  two  walked  away 
together.  The  Yorkshireman  lifted  up  his 
voice  and  gave  in  thunder  the  chorus  of 
"The  Sentry  Box,"  while  Ortheris  piped 
at  his  side. 

"  'Bin  to  a  bloomin'  sing-song,  you 
two?  "  said  the  artilleryman,  who  was  tak- 
ing his  cartridge  down  to  the  Morning 
Gun.  "  You're  overmerry  for  these  dashed 
days." 

••  I  bid  ye  take  care  o*  the  brat,  said  he, 
For  it  conies  of  a  noble  race," 

bellowed  Learoyd.    The  voices  died  out  in 
the  swimming-bath. 

"Oh,  Terence!"  I  said,  dropping  into 


92  Soldiers  Three 

Mulvaney's  speech,  when  we  were  alone, 
"  it's  you  that  have  the  tongue! " 

He  looked  at  me  wearily;  his  eyes  were 
sunk  in  his  head,  and  his  face  was  drawn 
and  white.  "Eyah!"  said  he;  "I've 
blandandhered  thim  through  the  night 
somehow,  but  can  thim  that  helps  others 
help  thimselves?  Answer  me  that,  sorr!  '* 

And  over  the  bastions  of  Fort  Amara 
broke  the  pitiless  day. 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  A  PRI- 
VATE 


Hurrah!  hurrah!  a  soldier's  life  for  toe! 
Shout,  boys,  shout!  for  it  makes  you  jolly  and  free. 
—  The  Ramrod  Corps. 

PEOPLE  who  have  seen,  state  that  one  of 
the  quaintest  spectacles  of  human  frailty 
is  an  outbreak  of  hysterics  in  a  girls' 
school.  It  starts  without  warning,  gener- 
ally on  a  hot  afternoon,  among  the  elder 
pupils.  A  girl  giggles  till  the  giggle  gets 
beyond  control.  Then  she  throws  up  her 
head,  and  cries:  "  Honk,  honk,  honk,"  like 
a  wild  goose,  and  tears  mix  with  the 
laughter.  If  the  mistress  be  wise,  she  will 
say  something  severe  at  this  point  to  check 
matters.  If  she  be  tender-hearted,  and 
send  for  a  drink  of  water,  the  chances  are 
largely  in  favor  of  another  girl  laughing  at 
the  afflicted  one  and  herself  collapsing. 
Thus  the  trouble  spreads,  and  may  end  in 
half  of  what  answers  to  the  lower  sixth  of 
a  boys'  school  rocking  and  whooping 
together.  Given  a  week  of  warm  weather, 
two  stately  promenades  per  diem,  a  heavy 

93 


94  Soldiers  Three 

mutton  and  rice  meal  in  the  middle  of  the 
day,  a  certain  amount  of  nagging  from  the 
teachers,  and  a  few  other  things,  some 
really  amazing  effects  can  be  secured.  At 
least,  this  is  what  folk  say  who  have  had 
experience. 

Now,  the  mother  superior  of  a  convent 
and  the  colonel  of  a  British  infantry  regi- 
ment would  be  justly  shocked  at  any  com- 
parison being  made  between  their 
respective  charges.  But  it  is  a  fact  that, 
under  certain  circumstances,  Thomas  in 
bulk  can  be  worked  up  into  ditthering,  rip- 
pling hysteria.  He  does  not  weep,  but  he 
shows  his  trouble  unmistakably,  and  the 
consequences  get  into  the  newspapers,  and 
al!  the  good  and  virtuous  people  who 
hardly  know  a  Martini  from  a  Snider  say: 
"  Take  away  the  brute's  amunition !  " 

Thomas  isn't  a  brute,  and  his  business, 
which  is  to  look  after  the  virtuous  people, 
demands  that  he  shall  have  his  ammuni- 
tion to  his  hand.  He  doesn't  wear  silk 
stockings,  and  he  really  ought  to  be  sup- 
plied with  a  new  adjective  to  help  him  to 
express  his  opinions:  but,  for  all  that,  he 
is  a  great  man.  If  you  call  him  "the 
heroic  defender  of  the  national  honor  "  one 
day,  and  "  a  brutal  and  licentious  soldiery  " 
the  next,  you  naturally  bewilder  him,  and 
he  looks  upon  you  with  suspicion.  There 
is  nobody  to  speak  for  Thomas  except  peo- 


In  the  Matter  of  a  Private    95 

pie  who  have  theories  to  work  off  on  him; 
and  nobody  understands  Thomas  except 
Thomas,  and  he  does  not  know  what  is  the 
matter  with  himself. 

That  is  the  prologue.  This  is  the  story: 
Corporal  Slane  was  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried to  Miss  Jhansi  McKenna,  whose  his- 
tory is  well  known  in  the  regiment  and 
elsewhere.  He  had  secured  his  colonel's 
leave,  and,  being  popular  with  the  men, 
every  arrangement  had  been  made  to  give 
the  wedding  what  Private  Ortheris  called 
"eeklar."  It  fell  in  the  heart  of  the  hot 
weather,  and,  after  the  wedding,  Slane  was 
going  up  to  the  hills  with  the  bride.  None 
the  less,  Slane's  grievance  was  that  the 
affair  would  be  only  a  hired  carriage  wed- 
ding, and  he  felt  that  the  "  eeklar"  of  that 
was  meager.  Miss  McKenna  did  not  care 
so  much.  The  sergeant's  wife  was  helping 
her  to  make  her  wedding-dress,  and  she 
was  very  busy.  Slane  was,  just  then,  the 
only  moderately  contented  man  in  bar- 
racks. All  the  rest  were  more  or  lessv 
miserable. 

And  they  had  so  much  to  make  thenr* 
happy,  too!  All  their  work  was  over  at 
eight  in  the  morning,  and  for  the  rest  of 
the  day  they  could  lie  on  their  backs  and 
smoke  canteen  plug  and  swear  at  the  pun- 
kah-coolies. They  enjoyed  a  fine,  full  flesh  - 
meal  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  and  thert- 


96  Soldiers  Three 

threw  themselves  down  on  their  cots  and 
sweated  and  slept  till  it  was  cool  enough 
to  go  out  with  their  "  towny,"  whose 
vocabulary  contained  less  than  six  hundred 
words,  and  the  adjective,  and  whose  views 
on  every  conceivable  question  they  had 
heard  many  months  before. 

There  was  the  canteen  of  course,  and 
there  was  the  temperance-room  with  the 
second-hand  papers  in  it;  but  a  man  of  any 
profession  can  not  read  for  eight  hours  a 
day  in  a  temperature  of  ninety-six  or 
ninety-eight  degrees  in  the  shade,  running 
up  sometimes  to  one  hundred  and  three 
degrees  at  midnight.  Very  few  men,  even 
though  they  get  a  pannikin  of  flat,  stale, 
muddy  beer  and  hide  it  under  their  cots, 
can  continue  drinking  for  six  hours  a  day. 
One  man  tried,  but  he  died,  and  nearly  the 
whole  regiment  went  to  his  funeral  because 
it  gave  them  something  to  do.  It  was  too 
early  for  the  modified  excitement  of  fever 
or  cholera.  The  men  could  only  wait  and 
wait  and  wait,  and  watch  the  shadow  of  the 
barrack  creeping  across  the  blinding  white 
dust.  That  was  a  gay  life! 

They  lounged  about  cantonments  —  it 
was  too  hot  for  any  sort  of  game,  and 
almost  too  hot  for  vice  —  and  fuddled 
themselves  in  the  evening,  and  filled  them- 
selves to  distension  with  the  healthy  nitro- 
genous food  provided  for  them,  and  the 


In  the  Matter  of  a  Private    97 

more  they  stoked  the  less  exercise  they 
took  and  more  explosive  they  grew.  Then 
the  tempers  began  to  wear  away,  and  men 
fell  a-brooding  over  insults  real  or  imagin- 
ary. They  had  nothing  else  to  think  of. 
The  tone  of  the  "  repartees  "  changed,  and 
instead  of  saying,  light-heartedly,  "  I'll 
knock  your  silly  face  in,"  men  grew  labor- 
iously polite  and  hinted  that  the  canton- 
ments were  not  big  enough  for  themselves 
and  their  enemy,  and  that  there  would  be 
more  space  for  one  of  the  two  in  a  place 
which  it  is  not  polite  to  mention. 

It  may  have  been  the  devil  who  arranged 
the  thing,  but  the  fact  of  the  case  is  that 
Losson  had  for  a  long  time  been  worry- 
ing Simmons  in  an  aimless  way.  It  gave 
him  occupation.  The  two  men  had  their 
cots  side  by  side,  and  would  sometimes 
spend  a  long  afternoon  swearing  at  each 
other;  but  Simmons  was  afraid  of  Losson 
and  dared  not  challenge  him  to  a  fight. 
He  thought  over  the  words  in  the  hot  still 
nights,  and  half  the  hate  he  felt  toward 
Losson  he  vented  on  the  wretched  punkah- 
coolie. 

Losson  bought  a  parrot  in  the  bazaar, 
and  put  it  into  a  little  cage,  and  lowered 
the  cage  into  the  cool  darkness  of  a  well, 
and  sat  on  the  well-curb,  shouting  bad 
language  down  to  the  parrot.  He  taught 
it  to  say :  "  Simmons,  ye  so-oor,"  which 


98  Soldiers  Three 

means  swine,  and  several  other  things 
entirely  unfit  for  publication.  He  was  a 
big  gross  man,  and  he  shook  like  a  jelly 
when  the  parrot  caught  the  sentence  cor- 
rectly. Simmons,  however,  shook  with 
rage,  for  all  the  room  were  laughing  at 
him  —  the  parrot  was  such  a  disreputable 
puff  of  green  feathers  and  looked  so  human 
when  it  chattered.  Losson  used  to  sit, 
swinging  his  fat  legs,  on  the  side  of  the  cot, 
and  ask  the  parrot  what  it  thought  of  Sim- 
mons. The  parrot  would  answer :  "  Sim- 
mons, ye  so-oor."  "  Good  boy,"  Losson 
used  to  say,  scratching  the  parrot's  head; 
ye  'ear  that,  Sim?"  And  Simmons  used 
to  turn  over  on  his  stomach  and  make 
answer :  "  I  'ear.  Take  'eed  you  don't  'ear 
something  one  of  these  days." 

In  the  restless  nights,  after  he  had  been 
asleep  all  day,  fits  of  blind  rage  came  upon 
Simmons  and  held  him  till  he  trembled  all 
over,  while  he  thought  in  how  many  differ- 
ent ways  he  would  slay  Losson.  Some- 
times he  would  picture  himself  trampling 
the  life  out  of  the  man,  with  heavy  ammu- 
nition boots,  and  at  others  smashing  in 
his  face  with  the  butt,  and  at  others  jump- 
ing on  his  shoulders  and  dragging  the  head 
back  till  the  neck-bone  cracked.  Then  his 
mouth  would  feel  hot  and  fevered,  and  he 
would  reach  out  for  another  sup  of  the 
beer  in  the  pannikin. 


In  the  Matter  of  a  Private    99 

But  the  fancy  that  came  to  him  most  fre- 
quently and  stayed  with  him  longest  was 
one  connected  with  the  great  roll  of  fat 
under  Losson's  right  ear.  He  noticed  it 
first  on  a  moonlight  night,  and  thereafter 
it  was  always  before  his  eyes.  It  was  a 
fascinating  roll  of  fat.  A  man  could  get 
his  hand  upon  it  and  tear  away  one  side 
of  the  neck;  or  he  could  place  the  muzzle 
of  a  rifle  on  it  and  blow  away  all  the  head 
in  a  flash.  Losson  had  no  right  to  be  sleek 
and  contented  and  well-to-do,  when  he, 
Simmons,  was  the  butt  of  the  room.  Some 
day,  perhaps,  he  would  show  those  who 
laughed  at  the  "  Simmons,  ye  so-oor  "  joke, 
that  he  was  as  good  as  the  rest,  and  held 
a  man's  life  in  the  crook  of  his  forefinger. 
When  Losson  snored,  Simmons  hated  him 
more  bitterly  than  ever.  Why  should 
Losson  be  able  to  sleep  when  Simmons 
had  to  stay  awake  hour  after  hour,  tossing 
and  turning  on  the  tapes,  with  the  dull  pain 
gnawing  into  his  right  side  and  his  head 
throbbing  and  aching  after  canteen?  He 
thought  over  this  for  many  nights,  and 
the  world  became  unprofitable  to  him.  He 
even  blunted  his  naturally  fine  appetite 
with  beer  and  tobacco ;  and  all  the  while  the 
parrot  talked  at  and  made  a  mock  of  him. 

The  heat  continued  and  the  tempers 
wore  away  more  quickly  than  before.  A 
sergeant's  wife  died  of  heat-apoplexy  in  the 


loo  Soldiers  Three 

night,  and  the  rumor  ran  abroad  that  it 
was  cholera.  Men  rejoiced  openly,  hoping 
that  it  would  spread  and  send  them  into 
camp.  But  that  was  a  false  alarm. 

It  was  late  on  a  Tuesday  evening,  and 
the  men  were  waiting  in  the  deep  double 
verandas  for  "  last  posts,"  when  Simmons 
went  to  the  box  at  the  foot  of  his  bed,  took 
out  his  pipe,  and  slammed  the  lid  down 
with  a  bang  that  echoed  through  the 
deserted  barrack  like  the  crack  of  a  rifle. 
Ordinarily  speaking,  the  men  would  have 
taken  no  notice;  but  their  nerves  were 
fretted  to  fiddle-strings.  They  jumped  up, 
and  three  or  four  clattered  into  the  bar- 
rack-room only  to  find  Simmons  kneeling 
by  his  box. 

"Ow!  It's  you,  is  it?"  they  said,  and 
laughed  foolishly;  "we  thought  'twas — " 

Simmons  rose  slowly.  If  the  accident 
had  so  shaken  his  fellows,  what  would  not 
the  reality  do?  " 

"You  thought  it  was  —  did  you?  And 
what  makes  you  think?"  he  said,  lashing 
himself  into  madness  as  he  went  on;  "to 
hell  with  your  thinking,  ye  dirty  spies." 

"  Simmons,  ye  so-oor,"  chuckled  the  par- 
rot in  the  veranda,  sleepily,  recognizing  a 
well-known  voice.  And  that  was  abso- 
lutely all. 

The  tension  snapped.  Simmons  fell 
back  on  the  arm-rack  deliberately  —  the 


In  the  Matter  of  a  Private   101 

men  were  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  —  and 
took  out  his  rifle  and  packet  of  ammuni- 
tion. "  Don't  go  playing  the  goat,  Sim!  " 
said  Losson ;  "  put  it  down,"  but  there  was 
a  quaver  in  his  voice.  Another  man 
stopped,  slipped  his  boot  and  hurled  it  at 
Simmons's  head.  The  prompt  answer 
was  a  shot  which,  fired  at  random,  found 
its  billet  in  Losson's  throat.  Losson  fell 
forward  without  a  word,  and  the  others 
scattered. 

"  You  thought  it  was!  "  yelled  Simmons. 
"  You're  drivin'  me  to  it !  I  tell  you  you're 
drivin'  me  to  it!  Get  up,  Losson,  an'  don't 
lie  shammin'  there  —  you  an'  your  blasted 
parrit  that  druv  me  to  it !  " 

But  there  was  an  unaffected  reality  about 
Losson's  pose  that  showed  Simmons  what 
he  had  done.  The  men  were  still  clamor- 
ing in  the  veranda.  Simmons  appropri- 
ated two  more  packets  of  ammunition  and 
ran  into  the  moonlight,  muttering:  "  I'll 
make  a  night  of  it.  Thirty  roun's,  an'  the 
last  for  myself.  Take  you  that,  you  dogs!  " 

He  dropped  on  one  knee  and  fired  into 
the  brown  of  the  men  in  the  veranda,  but 
the  bullet  flew  high,  and  landed  in  the 
brickwork  with  a  vicious  "  phwit "  that 
made  some  of  the  younger  men  turn  pale. 
It  is,  as  musketry  theorists  observe,  one 
thing  to  fire  and  another  to  be  fired  at. 

Then  the  instinct  of  the  chase  flared  up. 


IO2  Soldiers  Three 

The  news  spread  from  barrack  to  barrack, 
and  the  men  doubled  out  intent  on  the  cap- 
ture of  Simmons,  the  wild  beast,  who  was 
heading  for  the  cavalry  parade-ground, 
stopping  now  and  again  to  send  back  a 
shot  and  a  curse  in  the  direction  of  his 
pursuers. 

"I'll  learn  you  to  spy  on  me ! "  he 
shouted;  "  I'll  learn  you  to  give  me  dorg's 
names!  Come  on  the  'ole  lot  o'  you! 
Colonel  John  Anthony  Deever,  C.  B. !  " — 
he  turned  toward  the  infantry  mess  and 
shook  his  rifle  — "  you  think  yourself  the 
devil  of  a  man  —  but  I  tell  you  that  if  you 
put  your  ugly  old  carcass  outside  o'  that 
door,  I'll  make  you  the  poorest-lookin'  man 
in  the  army.  Come  out,  Colonel  John 
Anthony  Deever,  C.  B.!  Come  out  and 
see  me  practiss  on  the  rainge.  I'm  the 
crack  shot  of  the  'ole  bloomin'  battalion." 
In  proof  of  which  statement  Simmons  fired 
at  the  lighted  windows  of  the  mess-house. 

"  Private  Simmons,  E  Comp'ny,  on  the 
cavalry  p'rade-ground,  sir,  with  thirty 
rounds,"  said  a  sergeant,  breathlessly,  to 
the  colonel.  "  Shootin'  right  and  lef,  sir. 
Shot  Private  Losson.  What's  to  be  done, 
sir?  " 

Colonel  John  Anthony  Deever,  C.  B., 
sallied  out,  only  to  be  saluted  by  a  spurt  of 
dust  at  his  feet. 

"  Pull  up!  "  said  the  second  in  command; 


In  the  Matter  of  a  Private   103 

w  I  don't  want  my  step  in  that  way,  colonel. 
He's  as  dangerous  as  a  mad  dog!  " 

"  Shoot  him  like  one,  then,"  said  the 
colonel,  bitterly,  "if  he  won't  take  his 
chance.  My  regiment,  too!  If  it  had  been 
the  Towheads  I  could  have  understood." 

Private  Simmons  had  occupied  a  strong 
position  near  a  well  on  the  edge  of  the 
parade-ground,  and  was  defying  the  regi- 
ment to  come  on.  The  regiment  was  not 
anxious  to  comply  with  the  request,  for 
there  is  small  honor  in  being  shot  by  a 
fellow  private.  Only  Corporal  Slane,  rifle 
in  hand,  threw  himself  down  on  the 
ground,  and  wormed  his  way  toward  the 
well. 

"  Don't  shoot,"  said  he  to  the  men  round 
him ;  "  like  as  not  you'll  'it  me.  I'll  catch 
the  beggar,  livin'! " 

Simmons  ceased  shouting  for  awhile, 
and  the  noise  of  trap-wheels  could  be  heard 
across  the  plain.  Major  Oldyne,  com- 
manding the  horse  battery,  was  coming 
back  from  a  dinner  in  the  civil  lines;  was 
driving  after  his  usual  custom  —  that  is  to 
say,  as  fast  as  the  horse  could  go. 

"A  orf'cer!  A  blooming  spangled  orf- 
'cer!"  shrieked  Simmons;  "I'll  make  a 
scarecrow  of  that  orf'cer ! "  The  trap 
stopped. 

"What's  this?"  demanded  the  major  of 
gunners.  "  You  there,  drop  your  rifle !  " 


104  Soldiers  Three 

"  Why,  it's  Jerry  Blazes !  I  ain't  got  no 
quarrel  with  you,  Jerry  Blazes.  Pass,  frien', 
an' all's  well!" 

But  Jerry  Blazes  had  not  the  faintest 
intention  of  passing  a  dangerous  murderer. 
He  was,  as  his  adoring  battery  swore  long 
and  fervently,  without  knowledge  of  fear, 
and  they  were  surely  the  best  judges,  for 
Jerry  Blazes,  it  was  notorious,  had  done  his 
possible  to  kill  a  man  each  time  the  battery 
went  out. 

He  walked  toward  Simmons,  with  the 
intention  of  rushing  him,  and  knocking  him 
down. 

"  Don't  make  me  do  it,  sir,"  said  Sim- 
mons; "  I  ain't  got  nothing  agin  you.  Ah! 
you  would?" — the  major  broke  into  a 
run—"  Take  that,  then!  " 

The  major  dropped  with  a  bullet  through 
his  shoulder,  and  Simmons  stood  over  him. 
He  had  lost  the  satisfaction  of  killing 
Losson  in  the  desired  way;  but  here  was  a 
helpless  body  to  his  hand.  Should  he  slip 
in  another  cartridge,  and  blow  off  the  head, 
or  with  the  butt  smash  in  the  white  face? 
He  stopped  to  consider,  and  a  cry  went  up 
from  the  far  side  of  the  parade-ground: 
He's  killed  Jerry  Blazes!"  But  in  the 
shelter  of  the  well-pillars  Simmons  was 
safe,  except  when  he  stepped  out  to  fire. 
I'll  blow  yer  'andsome  'ead  off,  Jerry 
Blazes,"  said  Simmons,  reflectively;  "six 


In  the  Matter  of  a  Private  105 

an'  three  is  nine  an'  one  is  ten,  an'  that 
leaves  rne  another  nineteen,  an'  one  for 
myself."  He  tugged  at  the  string  of  the 
second  packet  of  ammunition.  Corporal 
Slane  crawled  out  of  the  shadow  of  a  bank 
into  the  moonlight. 

"  I  see  you !  "  said  Simmons ;  "  come  a 
bit  furder  on  an'  I'll  do  for  you." 

"I'm  comin',"  said  Corporal  Slane, 
briefly;  "  you  done  a  bad  day's  work,  Sim. 
Come  out  'ere  an'  come  back  with  me." 

"  Come  to  — "  laughed  Simmons,  send- 
ing a  cartridge  home  with  his  thumb.  "  Not 
before  I've  settled  you  an'  Jerry  Blazes." 

The  corporal  was  lying  at  full  length  in 
the  dust  of  the  parade-ground,  a  rifle  under 
him.  Some  of  the  less  cautious  men  in  the 
distance  shouted :  "  Shoot  'im !  Shoot  'im, 
Slane!" 

"  You  move  'and  or  foot,  Slane,"  said 
Simmons,  "  an'  I'll  kick  Jerry  Blazes's  'ead 
in,  and  shoot  you  after." 

"  I  ain't  movin',"  said  the  corporal,  rais- 
ing his  head;  "  you  daren't  'it  a  man  on  'is 
legs.  Let  go  o'  Jerry  Blazes  an'  come  out 
o'  that  with  your  fistes.  Come  an'  'it  me. 
You  daren't,  you  bloomin'  dog-shooter!" 

"  I  dare." 

"  You  lie,  you  man-sticker.  You  sneakin', 
sheeny  butcher,  you  lie!  See  there!" 
Slane  kicked  the  rifle  away,  and  stood  up 
in  the  peril  of  his  life.  "  Come  on,  now! " 


106  Soldiers  Three 

The  temptation  was  more  than  Simmons 
could  resist,  for  the  corporal  in  his  white 
clothes  offered  a  perfect  mark. 

"  Don't  misname  me,"  shouted  Simmons, 
firing  as  he  spoke.  The  shot  missed,  and 
the  shooter,  blind  with  rage,  threw  his  rifle 
down  and  rushed  at  Slane  from  the  protec- 
tion of  the  well.  Within  striking  distance, 
he  kicked  savagely  at  Slane's  stomach,  but 
the  weedy  corporal  knew  something  of 
Simmons's  weakness,  and  knew,  too,  the 
deadly  guard  for  that  kick.  Bowing  for- 
ward and  drawing  up  his  right  leg  till  the 
heel  of  the  right  foot  was  set  some  three 
inches  above  the  inside  of  the  left  knee- 
cap, he  met  the  blow  standing  on  one  leg  — 
-exactly  as  Gonds  stand  when  they  meditate 
—  and  ready  for  the  tall  that  would  follow. 
There  was  an  oath,  the  corporal  fell  over  to 
•his  own  left  as  shinbone  met  shinebone, 
•and  the  private  collapsed,  his  right  leg 
broken  an  inch  above  the  ankle. 

"  Pity  you  don't  know  that  guard,  Sim," 
-said  Slane,  spitting  out  the  dust  as  he  rose. 
Then  raising  his  voice:  '"Come  an'  take 
him  orf.  I've  bruk  'is  leg."  This  was  not 
strictly  true,  for  the  private  had  accomp- 
lished his  own  downfall,  since  it  is  the 
special  merit  of  that  leg-guard  that  the 
harder  the  kick  the  greater  the  kicker's 
discomfiture. 

Slane  walked  to  Jerry  Blazes  and  hung 


In  the  Matter  of  a  Private  1 07 

over  him  with  exaggerated  solicitude,  while 
Simmons,  weeping  with  pain,  was  carried 
away.  "  'Ope  you  ain't  'urt  badly,"  said 
Slane.  The  major  had  fainted,  and  there 
was  an  ugly,  ragged  hole  through  the  top 
of  his  arm.  Slane  knelt  down  and  mur- 
mured :  "  S'elp  me,  I  believe  'e's  dead. 
Well,  if  that  ain't  my  blooming  luck  all 
over!  " 

But  the  major  was  destined  to  lead  his 
battery  afield  for  many  a  day  with  unshaken 
nerve.  He  was  removed,  and  nursed  and 
petted  into  convalescence,  while  the  battery 
discussed  the  wisdom  of  capturing  Sim- 
mons, and  blowing  him  from  a  gun.  They 
idolized  their  major,  and  his  reappearance 
on  parade  resulted  in  a  scene  nowhere 
provided  for  in  the  army  regulations. 

Great,  too,  was  the  glory  that  fell  to 
Slane's  share.  The  gunners  would  have 
made  him  drunk  thrice  a  day  for  at  least  a 
fortnight.  Even  the  colonel  of  his  own 
regiment  complimented  him  upon  his  cool- 
ness, and  the  local  paper  called  him  a  hero. 
Which  things  did  not  puff  him  up.  When 
the  major  proffered  him  money  and  thanks, 
the  virtuous  corporal  took  the  one  and  put 
aside  the  other.  But  he  had  a  request  to 
make  and  prefaced  it  with  many  a  "  Beg  y' 
pardon,  sir."  Could  the  major  see  his  way 
to  letting  the  Slane-McKenna  wedding  be 
adorned  by  the  presence  of  four  battery 


io8  Soldiers  Three 

horses  to  pull  a  hired  barouche?  The  major 
could,  and  so  could  the  battery.     Exces- 
sively so.    It  was  a  gorgeous  wedding. 
****** 

"Wot  did  I  do  it  for?"  said  Corporal 
Slane.  "  For  the  'orses  o'  course.  Jhansi 
ain't  a  beauty  to  look  at,  but  I  wasn't  goin' 
to  'ave  a  hired  turnout.  Jerry  Blazes?  If 
I  'adn't  'a'  wanted  something,  Sim  might 
ha'  blowed  Jerry  Blazes'  blooming  'ead 
into  Hirish  stew  for  aught  I'd  'a'  cared." 

And  they  hanged  Private  Simmons  — 
hanged  him  as  high  as  Haman  in  hollow 
square  of  the  regiment;  and  the  colonel 
said  it  was  drink;  and  the  chaplain  was 
sure  it  was  the  devil;  and  Simmons  fancied 
it  was  both,  but  he  didn't  know,  and  only 
hoped  his  fate  would  be  a  warning  to  his 
companions ;  and  half  a  dozen  "  intelligent 
publicists "  wrote  six  beautiful  leading 
articles  on  "The  Prevalence  of  Crime  in 
the  Army." 

But  not  a  soul  thought  of  comparing  the 
"  bloody-minded  Simmons  "  to  the  squawk- 
ing, gaping  school-girl  with  which  this 
story  opens. 

That  would  have  been  too  absurd! 


BLACK  JACK 


To  the  wake  av  Tim  O'Hara 

Came  company, 
All  St.  Patrick's  Alley 

Was  there  to  see. 

— The  Wake  of  Tim  O'Hara. 

THERE  is  a  writer  called  Mr.  Robert 
Louis  Stevenson,  who  makes  most  delicate 
inlay-work  in  black  and  white,  and  files  out 
to  the  fraction  of  a  hair.  He  has  written  a 
story  about  a  suicide  club,  wherein  men 
gambled  for  death,  because  other  amuse- 
ments did  not  bite  sufficiently.  My  friend 
Private  Mulvaney  knows  nothing  about 
Mr.  Stevenson,  but  he  once  assisted  inform- 
ally at  a  meeting  of  almost  such  a  club  as 
that  gentleman  has  described;  and  his 
words  are  true. 

As  the  Three  Musketeers  share  their 
silver,  tobacco,  and  liquor  together,  as  they 
protect  each  other  in  barracks  or  camp,  and 
as  they  rejoice  together  over  the  joy  of  one, 
so  do  they  divide  their  sorrows.  When 
Ortheris's  irrepressible  tongue  has  brought 
him  into  cells  for  a  season,  or  Learoyd  has 
109 


no  Soldiers  Three 

run  amuck  through  his  kit  and  accouter- 
ments,  or  Mulvaney  has  indulged  in  strong 
waters,  and  under  their  influence  reproved 
his  commanding  officer,  you  can  see  the 
trouble  in  the  faces  of  the  untouched 
twain.  And  the  rest  of  the  regiment  know 
that  comment  or  jest  is  unsafe.  Generally 
the  three  avoid  orderly-room  and  the  corner 
shop  that  follows,  leaving  both  to  the 
young  bloods  who  have  not  sown  their  wild 
oats;  but  there  are  occasions.  .  .  .  For 
instance,  Ortheris  was  sitting  on  the  draw- 
bridge of  the  main  gate  of  Fort  Amara, 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  pipe, 
bowl  down,  in  his  mouth.  Learoyd  was 
lying  at  full  length  on  the  turf  of  the  glacis, 
kicking  his  heels  in  the  air,  and  I  came 
round  the  corner  and  asked  for  Mulvaney. 

Ortheris  spat  in  the  ditch  and  shook  his 
head.  "  No  good  seein'  'im  now,"  said 
Ortheris ;  "  'e's  a  bloomin'  camel.  Listen." 

I  heard  on  the  flags  of  the  veranda  oppo- 
site to  the  cells,  which  are  close  to  the 
guard-room,  a  measured  step  that  I  could 
have  identified  in  the  tramp  of  an  army. 
There  were  twenty  paces  crescendo,  a  pause, 
and  then  twenty  diminuendo. 

"That's  'im,"  said  Ortheris;  "my  Gawd, 
that's  im!  All  for  a  bloomin'  button  you 
could  see  your  face  in  an'  a  bit  o'  lip  that  a 
bloomin'  harkangel  would  'a'  guv  back." 

Mulvaney    was    doing    pack-drill  —  was 


Black  Jack  1 1 1 

compelled,  that  is  to  say,  to  walk  up  and 
down  for  certain  hours  in  full  marching 
order,  with  rifle,  bayonet,  ammunition, 
knapsack,  and  overcoat.  And  his  offense 
was  being  dirty  on  parade!  I  nearly  fell 
into  the  fort  ditch  with  astonishment  and 
wrath,  for  Mulvaney  is  the  smartest  man 
that  ever  mounted  guard,  and  would  as 
soon  think  of  turning  out  uncleanly  as  of 
dispensing  with  his  trousers. 

"  Who  was  the  sergeant  that  checked 
him?"  I  asked. 

"  Mullins,  o'  course,"  said  Ortheris. 
"  There  ain't  no  other  man  would  whip  'im 
on  the  peg  so.  But  Mullins  ain't  a  man. 
'E's  a  dirty  little  pig-scraper,  that's  wot 
'e  is." 

"  What  did  Mulvaney  say?  He's  not  the 
kind  of  man  to  take  that  quietly." 

"  Said!  Bin  better  for  'im  if  'ed  shut  'is 
mouth.  Lord,  'ow  we  laughed!  'Sargint,' 
'e  sez,  '  ye  say  I'm  dirty.  '  Well,'  sez  he, 
'  when  your  wife  lets  you  blow  your  own 
nose  for  yourself,  perhaps  you'll  know  wot 
dirt  is.  You're  himperfectly  eddicated, 
sargint,'  sez  'e,  an'  then  we  fell  in.  But 
after  p'rade,  'e  was  up  an'  Mullins  was 
swearin'  'imself  black  in  the  face  at  ord'ly- 
room  that  Mulvaney  'ad  called  'im  a  swine 
an'  Lord  knows  wot  all.  You  know  Mul- 
lins. 'E'll  'ave  'is  'ead  broke  in  one  'o  these 
days.  'E's  too  big  a  bloomin'  liar  for  ord'- 


112  Soldiers  Three 

nary  consumption.  'Three  hours'  can  an* 
kit,'  sez  the  colonel ;  '  not  for  bein'  dirty  on 
p'rade,  but  for  'avin'  said  somethin'  to  Mul- 
lins,  tho'  I  do  not  believe,'  sez  'e,  '  you  said 
wot  'e  said  you  said.'  An'  Mulvaney  fell 
away  sayin'  nothin'.  You  know  'e  never 
speaks  to  the  colonel  for  fear  o'  gettin' 
'imself  fresh  copped." 

Mullins,  a  very  young  and  very  much 
married  sergeant,  whose  manners  were 
partly  the  result  of  innate  depravity  and 
partly  of  imperfectly  digested  board  school, 
came  over  the  bridge,  and  most  rudely 
asked  Ortheris  what  he  was  doing. 

"  Me?  "  said  Ortheris.  "  Ow!  I'm  wait- 
ing for  my  c'mission.  'Seed  it  comin'  along 
yit?  " 

Mullins  turned  purple  and  passed  on. 
There  was  the  sound  of  a  gentle  chuckle 
from  the  glacis  where  Learoyd  lay. 

"  'E  expects  to  get  his  c'mission  some 
day,"  exclaimed  Ortheris ;  "  Gawd  'elp  the 
mess  that  'ave  to  put  their  'ands  into 
the  same  kiddy  as  'im!  Wot  time  d'you 
make  it,  sir?  Fower!  Mulvaney  '11  be  out 
in  'arf  an  hour.  You  don't  want  to  buy  a 
dorg,  sir,  do  you?  A  pup  you  can  trust  — 
'arf  Rampore  by  the  colonel's  grey'ound." 

"  Ortheris,"  I  answered,  sternly,  for  I 
knew  what  was  in  his  mind,  "  do  you  mean 
to  say  that  — " 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  arx  money  o'  you, 


Black  Jack  113 

any'ow,"  said  Ortheris ;  "  I'd  V  sold  you  the 
dorg  good  an'  cheap,  but —  but  —  I  know 
Mulvaney  '11  want  somethin'  after  we've 
walked  'im  orf,  an'  I  ain't  got  nothin',  nor  'e 
'asn't  neither.  I'd  sooner  sell  you  the  dorg, 
sir.  'Strewth  I  would!" 

A  shadow  fell  on  the  draw-bridge,  and 
Ortheris  began  to  rise  into  the  air,  lifted  by 
a  huge  hand  upon  his  collar. 

"  Onything  but  t'  braass,"  said  Learoyd, 
quietly,  as  he  held  the  Londoner  over  the 
ditch.  "  Onything  but  t'  braass,  Orth'ris, 
ma  son!  Ah've  got  one  rupee  eight  annas 
of  ma  own."  He  showed  two  coins,  and 
replaced  Ortheris  on  the  draw-bridge  rail. 

"Very  good,"  I  said;  "where  are  you 
going  to?  " 

"  Coin'  to  walk  'im  orf  wen  'e  comes  out 
—  two  miles  or  three  or  fower,"  said 
Ortheris. 

The  footsteps  within  ceased.  I  heard  the 
dull  thud  of  a  knapsack  falling  on  a  bed- 
stead, followed  by  the  rattle  of  arms.  Ten 
minutes  later,  Mulvaney,  faultlessly  attired, 
his  lips  compressed  and  his  face  as  black 
as  a  thunder-storm,  stalked  into  the  sun- 
shine on  the  draw-bridge.  Learoyd  and 
Ortheris  sprung  from  my  side  and  closed 
in  upon  him,  both  leaning  toward  as  horses 
lean  upon  the  pole.  In  an  instant  they  had 
disappeared  down  the  sunken  road  to  the 
cantonments,  and  I  was  left  alone.  Mul- 


1 14  Soldiers  Three 

vaney  had  not  seen  fit  to  recognize  me; 
wherefore,  I  felt  that  his  trouble  must  be 
heavy  upon  him. 

I  climbed  one  of  the  bastions  and 
watched  the  figures  of  the  Three  Muske- 
teers grow  smaller  arid  smaller  across  the 
plain.  They  were  walking  as  fast  as  they 
could  put  foot  to  the  ground,  and  their 
heads  were  bowed.  They  fetched  a  great 
compass  round  the  parade-ground,  skirted 
the  cavalry  lines,  and  vanished  in  the  belt 
of  trees  that  fringes  the  low  land  by  the 
river. 

I  followed  slowly,  and  sighted  them  — 
dusty,  sweating,  but  still  keeping  up  their 
long,  swinging  tramp  —  on  the  river-bank. 
They  crashed  through  the  forest  reserve, 
headed  toward  the  bridge  of  boats,  and 
presently  established  themselves  on  the 
bow  of  one  of  the  pontoons.  I  rode 
cautiously  till  I  saw  three  puffs  of  white 
smoke  rise  and  die  out  in  the  clear  evening 
air,  and  knew  that  peace  had  come  again. 
At  the  bridge-head  they  waved  me  forward 
with  gestures  of  welcome. 

"Tie  up  your  'orse,"  shouted  Ortheris, 
"  an'  come  on,  sir.  We're  all  goin'  'ome  in 
this  'ere  bloomin'  boat." 

From  the  bridge-head  to  the  forest  offi- 
cers' bungalow  is  but  a  step.  The  mess- 
man  was  there,  and  would  see  that  a  man 
held  my  horse.  Did  the  sahib  require 


Black  Jack  1 1 5 

aught  else  —  a  peg,  or  beer?  Ritchie 
Sahib  had  left  half  a  dozen  bottles  of  the 
latter,  but  since  the  sahib  was  a  friend  of 
Ritchie  Sahib,  and  he,  the  mess-man,  was 
a  poor  man  — 

I  gave  my  order  quietly,  and  returned  to 
the  bridge.  Mulvaney  had  taken  off  his 
boots,  and  was  dabbling  his  toes  in  the 
water;  Learoyd  was  lying  on  his  back  on 
the  pontoon;  and  Ortheris  was  pretending 
to  row  with  a  big  bamboo. 

"  I'm  an  ould  fool,"  said  Mulvaney, 
reflectively,  "  dhraggin'  you  two  out  here 
bekaze  I  was  undher  the  black  dog  — 
sulkin'  like  a  child.  Me  that  was  soldierin' 
when  Mullins,  an'  be  damned  to  him,  was 
shquealin'  on  a  counterpin  for  foive  shil- 
lin's  a  week,  an'  that  not  paid!  Bhoys,  I've 
took  you  foive  miles  out  av  natural  pevar- 
sity.  Phew!" 

"  Wot's  the  odds  as  long  as  you're 
'appy?"  said  Ortheris,  applying  himself 
afresh  to  the  bamboo.  "  As  well  'ere  as 
anywhere  else." 

Learoyd  held  up  a  rupee  and  an  eight 
anna  bit,  and  shook  his  head  sorrowfully. 
"  Five  miles  from  t'  canteen,  all  along  o' 
Mulvaney's  blaasted  pride." 

"  I  know  ut,"  said  Mulvaney,  penitently. 
"Why  will  ye  come  wid  me?  An'  yet  I 
wud  be  mortial  sorry  if  ye  did  not  —  any 
time  —  though  I  am  ould  enough  to  know 


1 1 6  Soldiers  Three 

better.  But  I  will  do  penance.  I  will 
take  a  dhrink  av  wather." 

Ortheris  squeaked  shrilly.  The  butler 
of  the  forest  bungalow  was  standing  near 
the  railings  with  a  basket,  uncertain  how 
to  clamber  down  to  the  pontoon. 

"  Might  'a'  know'd  you'd  'a'  got  liquor 
out  o'  bloomin'  desert,  sir,"  said 
Ortheris,  gracefully,  to  me.  Then  to  the 
mess-man :  "  Easy  with  them  there  bot- 
tles. They're  worth  their  weight  in  gold. 
Jock,  ye  long-armed  beggar,  get  out  o'  that 
an'  hike  'em  down." 

Learoyd  had  the  basket  on  the  pontoon 
in  an  instant,  and  the  Three  Musketeers 
gathered  round  it  with  dry  lips.  They 
drank  my  health  in  due  and  ancient  form, 
and  thereafter  tobacco  tasted  sweeter  than 
ever.  They  absorbed  all  the  beer,  and  dis- 
posed themselves  in  picturesque  attitudes 
to  admire  the  setting  sun  —  no  man  speak- 
ing for  awhile. 

Mulvaney's  head  dropped  upon  his 
chest,  and  we  thought  that  he  was  asleep. 

"  What  on  earth  did  you  come  so  far 
for?  "  I  whispered  to  Ortheris. 

"  To  walk  'im  orf,  o'  course.  When  'e's 
been  checked  we  allus  walks  'im  orf.  'E 
ain't  fit  to  be  spoke  to  those  times  —  nor 
'e  ain't  fit  to  leave  alone  neither.  So  we 
takes  'im  till  'e  is." 

Mulvaney  raised   his  head,   and   stared 


Black  Jack  117 

straight  into  the  sunset.  "  I  had  my  rifle," 
said  he,  dreamily,  "  an'  I  had  my  bay'nit, 
an'  Mullins  came  round  the  corner,  an'  he 
looked  in  my  face  an'  grinned  dishpiteful. 
'  You  can't  blow  your  own  nose,'  sez  he. 
Now,  I  can  not  tell  fwhat  Mullins's  expayri- 
ence  may  ha'  been,  but  Mother  av  God,  he 
was  nearer  to  his  death  that  minut'  than  I 
have  iver  been  to  mine  —  and  that's  less 
than  the  thicknuss  av  a  hair!" 

"Yes,"  said  Ortheris,  calmly,  "you'd 
look  fine  with  all  your  buttons  took  orf, 
an'  the  band  in  front  o'  you,  walkin'  roun' 
slow  time.  We're  both  front-rank  men, 
me  an'  Jock,  when  the  rig'ment's  in  hollow 
square.  Bloomin'  fine  you'd  look.  'The 
Lord  giveth  an'  the  Lord  taketh  awai  — 
Heasy  with  that  there  drop!  Blessed  be 
the  naime  of  the  Lord!"  He  gulped  in 
a  quaint  and  suggestive  fashion. 

"Mullins!  Wot's  Mullins?"  said  Lea- 
royd,  slowly.  "  Ah'd  take  a  comp'ny  o* 
Mullinses  —  ma  hand  behind  me.  Sitha, 
Mulvaney,  dunnat  be  a  fool." 

"You  were  not  checked  for  fwhat  you 
did  not  do,  an'  made  a  mock  av  afther. 
'Twas  for  less  than  that  the  Tyrone  wud 
ha'  sent  O'Hara  to  hell,  instid  av  lettin* 
him  go  by  his  own  choosin',  whin  Rafferty 
shot  him,"  retorted  Mulvaney. 

"And  who  stopped  the  Tyrone  from 
doing  it?  "  I  asked. 


1 1 8  Soldiers  Three 

"That  ould  fool  who's  sorry  he  didn't 
stick  the  pig  Mullins."  His  head  dropped 
again.  When  he  raised  it  he  shivered  and 
put  his  hand  on  the  shoulders  of  his  two 
companions. 

"  Ye've  walked  the  divil  out  av  me, 
bhoys,"  said  he. 

Ortheris  shot  out  the  red-hot  dottel  of  his 
pipe  on  the  back  of  the  hairy  fist.  "  They 
say  'ell's  'otter  than  that,"  said  he,  as  Mul- 
vaney  swore  aloud.  "  You  be  warned  so. 
Look  yonder!" — he  pointed  across  the 
river  to  a  ruined  temple  — "  Me  an'  you  an' 
'im  " —  he  indicated  me  by  a  jerk  of  his 
head  — "  was  there  one  day  when  Hi  made 
a  bloomin'  show  o'  myself.  You  an'  'im 
stopped  me  doin'  such  —  an'  Hi  was  on'y 
wishful  for  to  desert.  You  are  makin'  a 
bigger  bloomin'  show  o'  yourself  now." 

"Don't  mind  him,  Mulvaney,"  I  said; 
"  Dinah  Shadd  won't  let  you  hang  yourself 
yet  awhile,  and  you  don't  intend  to  try  it 
either.  Let's  hear  about  the  Tyrone  and 
O'Hara.  Rafferty  shot  him  for  fooling  with 
his  wife.  What  happened  before  that?  " 

"  There's  no  fool  like  an  ould  fool.  You 
know  you  can  do  anythin'  wid  me  whin  I'm 
talkin'.  Did  I  say  I  wud  like  to  cut  Mul- 
lins's  liver  out?  I  deny  the  imputashin,  for 
fear  that  Orth'ris  here  wud  report  me  — 
Ah!  You  wud  tip  me  into  the  river,  wud 
you?  Sit  quiet,  little  man.  Any  ways, 


Black  Jack  119 

Mullins  is  not  worth  the  trouble  av  an  extry 
p'rade,  an'  I  will  trate  him  wid  outrajis 
contimpt.  The  Tyrone  an'  O'Hara! 
O'Hara  an'  the  Tyrone,  begad !  Ould  days 
are  hard  to  bring  back  into  the  mouth,  but 
they're  always  inside  the  head." 

Followed  a  long  pause. 

"  O'Hara  was  a  divil.  Though  I  saved 
him,  for  the  honor  av  the  rig'mint,  from 
his  death  that  time,  I  say  it  now.  He  was 
a  divil  —  a  long,  bould,  black-haired  divil." 

"  Which  way?  "  asked  Ortheris. 

"  Women."  ' 

"  Then  I  know  another." 

"  Not  more  than  in  reason,  if  you  mane 
me,  ye  warped  walkin'-shtick.  I  have  been 
young,  an'  for  why  should  I  not  have  tuk 
what  I  cud?  Did  I  iver,  whin  I  was  corp'ril, 
use  the  rise  av  my  rank  —  wan  step  an' 
that  taken  away,  more's  the  sorrow  an'  the 
fault  av  me !  —  to  prosecute  a  nefarious 
inthrigue,  as  O'Hara  did?  Did  I,  whin  I 
was  corp'ril,  lay  my  spite  upon  a  man  an' 
make  his  life  a  dog's  life  from  day  to  day? 
Did  I  lie,  as  O'Hara  lied,  till  the  young 
wans  in  the  Tyrone  turned  white  wid  the 
fear  av  the  judgment  av  God  killin'  thim 
all  in  a  lump,  as  ut  killed  the  women  at 
Devizes?  I  did  not!  I  have  sinned  my 
sins  an'  I  have  made  my  confesshin'  an' 
Father  Victor  knows  the  worst  av  me. 
O'Hara  was  tuk,  before  he  cud  spake,  on 


I2O  Soldiers  Three 

Rafferty's  door-step,  an*  no  man  knows  the 
worst  av  him.     But  this  much  I  know! 

"The  Tyrone  was  recruited  any  fashion 
in  the  ould  days.  A  draf  from  Connemara 
—  a  draf  from  Portsmouth  —  a  draf  from 
Kerry,  an'  that  was  a  blazin'  bad  draf — 
here,  there  and  iverywhere  —  but  the  large 
av  thim  was  Oirish  —  Black  Oirish.  Now 
there  are  Oirish  an'  Oirish.  The  good  are 
good  as  the  best,  but  the  bad  are  wurrst 
than  the  wurrst.  Tis  this  way.  They  clog 
together  in  pieces  as  fast  as  thieves,  an'  no 
wan  knows  fwhat  they  will  do  till  wan 
turns  informer  an'  the  gang  is  bruk.  But 
ut  begins  again,  a  day  later,  meetin'  in  holes 
an'  corners  an'  swearin'  bloody  oaths  an' 
shtickin'  a  man  in  the  back  an'  runnin' 
away,  an'  thin  waitin'  for  the  blood-money 
on  the  reward  papers  —  to  see  if  it's  worth 
enough.  Those  are  the  Black  Oirish,  an' 
'tis  they  that  bring  dishgrace  upon  the 
name  av  Oireland,  an'  thim  I  wud  kill  —  as 
I  nearly  killed  wan  wanst. 

"  But  to  reshume.  My  room  — 'twas 
before  I  was  married  —  was  wid  twelve  av 
the  scum  av  the  earth  —  the  pickin's  av 
the  gutter  —  mane  men  that  wud  neither 
laugh  nor  talk  nor  yet  get  dhrunk  as  a  man 
shud.  They  thried  some  av  their  dog's 
thricks  on  me,  but  I  dhrew  a  line  round 
my  cot,  an'  the  man  that  thransgressed  ut 
wint  into  hospital  for  three  days  good. 


Black  Jack  121 

"  O'Hara  had  put  his  spite  on  the  room 
—  he  was  my  color  sargint  —  an'  nothin' 
cud  we  do  to  plaze  him.  I  was  younger 
than  I  am  now,  an'  I  tuk  what  I  got  in 
the  way  av  dressing  down  and  punishmint- 
dhrill  wid  my  tongue  in  my  cheek.  But  it 
was  diff'rint  wid  the  others,  an'  why  I  can 
not  say,  excipt  that  some  men  are  borrun 
mane  an'  go  to  dhirty  murdher  where  a 
fist  is  more  than  enough.  Afther  a  whoile 
they  changed  their  chune  to  me  an'  was 
desp'rit  frien'ly  —  all  twelve  av  thim 
cursin'  O'Hara  in  chorus. 

"'Eyah,'  sez  I,  '  O'Hara's  a  divil  and 
I'm  not  for  denyin'  ut,  but  is  he  the  only 
man  in  the  wurruld?  Let  him  go.  He'll 
get  tired  av  findin'  our  kit  foul  an'  our  'cou- 
terments  onproperly  kep'.' 

" '  We  will  not  let  him  go/  sez  they. 

" '  Thin  take  him,'  sez  I,  '  an'  a  dashed 
poor  yield  you  will  get  for  your  throuble.' 

" '  Is  he  not  misconductin'  himself  wid 
Slimmy's  wife?  '  sez  another. 

"  'She's  common  to  the  rig'mint,'  sez  I. 
'  Fwhat  has  made  ye  this  partic'lar  on  a 
suddint? ' 

"  '  Has  he  not  put  his  spite  on  the  room- 
ful av  us?  Can  we  do  anythin'  that  he  will 
not  check  for  us?'  sez  another. 

"  '  That's  thrue,'  sez  I. 

" '  Will  ye  not  help  us  to  do  aught,'  sea 
another — 'a  big  bould  man  like  you?' 


122  Soldiers  Three 

" '  I  will  break  his  head  upon  his 
shoulthers  av  he  puts  hand  on  me/  sez  I. 
'  I  will  give  him  the  lie  av  he  says  that  I'm 
dhirty,  an'  I  wud  not  mind  duckin'  him  in 
the  artillery  troughs  if  ut  was  not  that  I'm 
thryin'  for  my  shtripes.' 

"  '  Is  that  all  ye  will  do? '  sez  another. 
'  Have  ye  no  more  spunk  than  that,  ye 
blood-dhrawn  calf? ' 

" '  Blood-dhrawn  I  may  be,'  says  I, 
gettin'  back  to  my  cot  an'  makin'  my  line 
round  ut ;  '  but  ye  know  that  the  man  who 
comes  acrost  this  mark  will  be  more  blood- 
dhrawn  than  me.  No  man  gives  me  the 
name  in  my  mouth,'  I  sez.  'Ondersthand, 
I  will  have  no  part  wid  you  in  anythin'  ye 
do,  nor  will  I  raise  my  fist  to  my  shuperior. 
Is  any  wan  comin'  on?'  sez  I. 

"  They  made  no  move,  tho'  I  gave  thim 
full  time,  but  stud  growlin'  an'  snarlin' 
together  at  wan  ind  av  the  room.  I  tuck 
up  my  cap  and  wint  out  to  canteen,  thinkin' 
no  little  av  mesilf,  an'  there  I  grew  most 
ondacintly  dhrunk  in  my  legs.  My  head 
was  all  reasonable. 

"  'Houligan/  I  sez  to  a  man  in  E 
Comp'ny  that  was  by  way  av  bein'  a  frind 
av  mine;  *  I'm  overtuk  from  the  belt  down. 
Do  you  give  me  the  touch  av  your  shoul- 
ther  to  presarve  my  formation  an'  march 
me  acrost  the  ground  into  the  high  grass. 
I'll  sleep  ut  off  there/  sez  I;  an'  Houligan 


Black  Jack  123 

—  he's  dead  now,  but  good  he  was  while 
he  lasted  —  walked  wid  me,  givin'  me  the 
touch  whin  I  wint  wide,  ontil  we  came  to 
the  high  grass,  an',  my  faith,  the  sky,  an' 
the  earth  was  fair  rowlin'  undher  me.  I 
made  for  where  the  grass  was  thickust,  an' 
there  I  slep'  off  my  liquor  wid  an  aisy  con- 
science. I  did  not  desire  to  come  on  books 
too  frequint;  my  characther  havin'  been 
shpotless  for  the  good  half  av  a  year. 

"  Whin  I  roused,  the  dhrink  was  dyin' 
out  in  me,  an'  I  felt  as  though  a  she-cat 
had  littered  in  my  mouth.  I  had  not 
learned  to  hould  my  liquor  wid  comfort  in 
thim  days.  Tis  little  betther  I  am  now.  '  I 
will  get  Houligan  to  pour  a  bucket  over  my 
head,'  thinks  I,  an'  wud  ha'  risen,  but  I 
heard  some  wan  say:  '  Mulvaney  can  take 
the  blame  av  ut  for  the  backslidin'  hound 
he  is.' 

"  '  Oho ! '  sez  I,  an'  my  head  rang  like  a 
guard-room  gong ; '  f what  is  the  blame  that 
this  young  man  must  take  to  oblige  Tim 
Vulmea?'  For  'twas  Tim  Vtilmea  that 
shpoke.  I  turned  on  my  belly  an'  crawled 
through  the  grass,  a  bit  at  a  time,  to  where 
the  spache  came  from.  There  was  the 
twelve  av  my  room  sittin*  down  in  a  lit- 
tle patch,  the  dhry  grass  wavin'  above  their 
heads  an*  the  sin  av  black  murdher  in  their 
hearts.  I  put  the  stuff  aside  to  get 
clear  view. 


1 24  Soldiers  Three 

"  '  Fwhat's  that? '  sez  wan  man,  jumpin* 
up. 

' '  A  dog/  says  Vulmea.  '  You're  a  nice 
hand  to  this  job!  As  I  said,  Mulvaney  will 
take  the  blame  —  av  ut  comes  to  a  pinch.' 

"  '  'Tis  harrd  to  swear  a  man's  life  away/ 
sez  a  young  wan. 

"  '  Thank  ye  for  that/  thinks  I.  '  Now, 
fwhat  the  divil  are  you  paragins  conthrivin' 
against  me?' 

" '  'Tis  as  easy  as  dhrinkin'  your  quart/ 
sez  Vulmea.  'At  seven  or  thereon,  O'Hara 
will  come  acrost  to  the  married  quarters, 
goin'  to  call  on  Slimmy's  wife,  the  swine! 
Wan  av  us'll  pass  the  wurrd  to  the  room 
an'  we  shtart  the  divil  an'  all  av  a  shine  — 
laughin'  an  crackin'  on  an'  t'rowin'  our 
boots  about.  Thin  O'Hara  will  come  to 
give  us  the  ordher  to  be  quiet,  the  more 
by  token  bekaze  the  room-lamp  will  be 
knocked  over  in  the  larkin'.  He  will  take 
the  straight  road  to  the  ind  door  where 
there's  the  lamp  in  the  veranda,  an'  that'll 
bring  him  clear  against  the  light  as  he 
sthands.  He  will  not  be  able  to  look  into 
the  dhark.  Wan  av  us  will  loose  off,  an'  a 
close  shot  ut  will  be,  an'  shame  to  the  man 
that  misses.  Twill  be  Mulvaney's  rifle,  she 
that  is  at  the  head  av  the  rack  —  there's  no 
mistakin'  that  long-shtocked,  cross-eyed 
bitch  even  in  the  dhark/ 

"  The  thief  misnamed  my  ould  firin'-piece 


Black  Jack  1 25 

out  av  jealousy  —  I  was  pershuaded  av  that 

—  an'  ut  made  me  more  angry  than  all. 

"  But  Vulmea  goes  on :  '  O'Hara  will 
dhrop,  an'  by  the  time  the  light's  lit  again, 
there'll  be  some  six  av  us  on  the  chest  av 
Mulvaney,  cryin'  murdher  an'  rape.  Mul- 
vaney's  cot  is  near  the  ind  door,  an'  the 
shmokin'  rifle  will  be  lyin'  undher  him 
whin  we've  knocked  him  over.  We  know, 
an'  all  the  rig'mint  knows,  that  Mulvaney 
has  given  O'Hara  more  lip  than  any  man 
av  us.  Will  there  be  any  doubt  at  the 
coort-martial?  Wud  twelve  honust  sodger- 
bhoys  swear  away  the  life  av  a  dear,  quiet, 
swate-timpered  man  such  as  is  Mulvaney 

—  wid  his  line  av  pipe-clay  roun'  his  cot, 
threatenin*  us  wid  murdher  av  we  over- 
shtepped  ut,  as  we  can  truthful  testify?' 

" '  Mary,  Mother  av  Mercy! '  thinks  I  to 
mysilf ; '  it  is  this  to  have  an  unruly  mimber 
an'  fistes  fit  to  use!  Oh,  the  sneakin* 
hounds! ' 

"  The  big  dhrops  ran  down  my  face,  for  I 
was  wake  wid  the  liquor  an'  had  not  the  full 
av  my  wits  about  me.  I  laid  shtill  and 
heard  thim  workin'  themselves  up  to  swear 
my  life  by  tellin'  tales  av  ivry  time  I  had 
put  my  mark  on  wan  or  another;  an'  my 
faith,  they  was  few  that  was  not  so  dis- 
tinguished. Twas  all  in  the  way  av  fair 
fight,  though,  for  niver  did  I  raise  my  hand 
excipt  whin  they  had  provoked  me  to  ut, 


126  Soldiers  Three 

" '  Tis  all  well/  sez  wan  av  thim,  '  but 
who's  to  do  this  shootin'?' 

"  '  Fwhat  matther?  '  sez  Vulmea.  '  Tis 
Mulvaney  will  do  that  —  at  the  coort- 
martial.' 

"  '  He  will  so,'  sez  the  man,  '  but  whose 
hand  is  put  to  the  trigger  —  in  the  room? ' 

"'Who'll  do  ut?'  sez  Vulmea,  lookin' 
round,  but  divil  a  man  answered.  They 
began  to  dishpute  till  Kiss,  that  was  always 
playin'  Shpoil  Five,  sez:  'Thry  the 
kyards!"  Wid  that  he  opined  his  jackut 
an'  tuk  out  the  greasy  palammers,  an'  they 
all  fell  in  wid  the  notion. 

"  '  Deal  on ! '  sez  Vulmea,  wid  a  big  rat- 
tlin'  oath,  an'  the  Black  Curse  av  Shielygh 
come  to  the  man  that  will  not  do  his  duty 
as  the  kyards  say.  Amin ! ' 

" '  Black  Jack  is  the  masther,'  sez  Kiss, 
dealin'.  Black  Jack,  sorr,  I  shud  expayti- 
ate  to  you,  is  the  ace  of  shpades  which  from 
time  immimorial  has  been  intimately  con- 
nected wid  battle,  murdher  an'  sudden 
death. 

"  Wanst  Kiss  dealt  an'  there  was  no  sign, 
but  the  men  was  whoite  wid  the  workin's 
av  their  sowls.  Twice  Kiss  dealt,  an'  there 
was  a  gray  shine  on  their  cheeks  like  the 
mess  av  an  egg.  Three  times  Kiss  dealt 
an'  they  was  blue.  '  Have  ye  not  lost 
him?  '  sez  Vulmea,  wipin'  the  sweat  on  him. 
'  Let's  ha'  done  quick! '  '  Quick  ut  is,'  sez 


Black  Jack  127 

Kiss  t'rowin'  him  the  kyard;  an'  ut  fell  face 
up  on  his  knee  —  Black  Jack! 

"Thin  they  all  cackled  wid  laughin*. 
'  Duty  thrippence/  sez  wan  av  thim,  '  anr 
damned  cheap  at  that  price!'  But  I  cud 
see  they  all  dhrew  a  little  away  from  Vul- 
mea  an'  lef  him  sittin'  playin'  wid  the 
kyard.  Vulmea  sez  no  word  for  awhoile 
but  licked  his  lips  —  cat-ways.  Thin 
he  threw  up  his  head  an'  made  the  men 
swear  by  ivry  oath  known  an'  unknown  to 
stand  by  him  not  alone  in  the  room  but  at 
the  coort-martial  that  was  to  set  on  me! 
He  tould  off  five  av  the  biggest  to  stretch 
me  on  my  cot  whin  the  shot  was  fired,  an' 
another  man  he  tould  off  to  put  out  the 
light,  an'  yet  another  to  load  my  rifle.  He 
wud  not  do  that  himself;  an'  that  was 
quare,  for  'twas  but  a  little  thing. 

" '  Thin  they  swore  over  again  that  they 
wud  not  bethray  wan  another,  an'  crep  out 
av  the  grass  in  diff'rint  ways,  two  by  two. 
A  mercy  ut  was  that  they  did  not  come  on 
me.  I  was  sick  wid  fear  in  the  pit  av  my 
stummick  —  sick,  sick,  sick!  Afther  they 
was  all  gone,  I  wint  back  to  the  canteen  an' 
called  for  a  quart  to  put  a  thought  in  me. 
Vulmea  was  there,  dhrinkin'  heavy,  an' 
politeful  to  me  beyond  reason.  '  Fwhat 
will  I  do  —  fwhat  will  I  do? '  thinks  I  to 
mesilf  whin  Vulmea  wint  away. 

"  Prisintly  the  arm'rer  sargint  comes  in 


128  Soldiers  Three 

stiffin'  an'  crackin'  on,  not  pleased  wid  any 
wan,  bekaze  the  Martini-Henri  bein'  new 
to  the  rig'mint  in  those  days  we  used  to 
play  the  mischief  wid  her  arrangemints. 
Twas  a  long  time  before  I  cud  get  out  av 
the  way  av  thryin'  to  pull  back  the  back- 
sight an'  turnin'  her  over  afther  firm' — 
as  if  she  was  a  Snider. 

'  '  Fwhat  tailor-men  do  they  give  me  to 
work  wid? '  sez  the  arm'rer  sargint. 
'  Here's  Hogan,  his  nose  flat  as  a  table,  laid 
by  for  a  week,  an'  ivry  comp'ny  sendin' 
their  arrums  in  knocked  to  small  shivreens. 

"  '  Fwhat's  wrong  wid  Hogan,  sargint?' 
sez  I. 

"'Wrong!'  sez  the  arm'rer  sargint;  *I 
showed  him,  as  though  I  had  been  his 
mother,  the  way  av  shtrippin'  a  Tini,  and 
he  shtrup  her  clane  an'  aisy.  I  towld  him 
to  put  her  to  again  an'  fire  a  blank  into  the 
blow-pit  to  show  how  the  dirt  hung  on  the 
groovin'.  He  did  that,  but  he  did  not  put 
in  the  pin  av  the  fallin'-block,  an'  av 
coorse  whin  he  fired  he  was  strook  by  the 
block  jumpin'  clear.  Well  for  him  'twas 
but  a  blank  —  a  full  charge  wud  ha'  cut  his 
oi  out.' 

"  I  looked  a  trifle  wiser  than  a  boiled 
sheep's  head.  '  How's  that  sargint?  '  sez  I. 

" '  This  way,  ye  blundherin'  man,  an* 
don't  be  doin'  ut,'  sez  he.  Wid  that  he 
shows  me  a  Waster  action  —  the  breech  av 


Black  Jack  129 

her  all  cut  away  to  show  the  inside  —  an* 
so  plazed  was  he  to  grumble  that  he 
dimonstrated  fwhat  Hogan  had  done  twice 
over.  '  An'  that  comes  av  not  knowin' 
the  wepping  you're  purvided  wid,'  sez  he. 

"  '  Thank  ye,  sargint/  sez  I ;  '  I  will  come 
to  you  again  for  further  information.' 

" '  Ye  will  not/  sez  he.  '  Kape  your 
clanin'-rod  away  from  the  breech-pin  or 
you  will  get  into  throuble.' 

"  I  wint  outside  an'  I  could  ha'  danced 
wid  delight  for  the  grandeur  av  ut. 
'They  will  load  my  rifle,  good  luck  to  thim, 
whoile  I'm  away,'  thinks  I,  and  back  I 
wint  to  the  canteen  to  give  them  their 
clear  chanst. 

"  The  canteen  was  fillin'  wid  men  at  the 
ind  av  the  day.  I  made  feign  to  be  far 
gone  in  dhrink,  an',  wan  by  wan,  all  my 
roomful  came  in  wid  Vulmea.  I  wint 
away,  walkin'  thick  and  heavy,  but  not  so 
thick  an'  heavy  that  any  wan  cud  ha'  tuk 
me.  Sure  and  thrue,  there  was  a  kyar- 
tridge  gone  from  my  pouch  an'  lyin'  snug 
in  my  rifle.  I  was  hot  wid  rage  against 
thim  all,  and  I  worried  the  bullet  out  wid 
my  teeth  as  fast  I  cud,  the  room  bein' 
empty.  Then  I  tuk  my  boot  an'  the 
clanin'-rod  and  knocked  out  the  pin  av  the 
fallin'-block.  Oh.  'twas  music  when  that 
pin  rowled  on  the  flure!  I  put  ut  into  my 
pouch  an'  stuck  a  dab  av  dirt  on  the  holes 


130  Soldiers  Three 

in  the  plate,  puttin'  the  fallin'-block  back. 
'  That'll  do  your  business,  Vulmea/  sez  I, 
lyin'  easy  on  the  cot.  '  Come  an'  sit  on 
my  chest  the  whole  room  av  you,  an'  I  will 
take  you  to  my  bosom  for  the  biggest  div- 
ils  that  iver  cheated  halter.'  I  wud  have 
no  mercy  on  Vulmea.  His  oi  or  his  life  — 
little  I  cared! 

"  At  dusk  they  came  back,  the  twelve  av 
thim,  an'  they  had  all  been  dhrinkin'.  I 
was  shammin'  sleep  on  the  cot.  Wan 
man  wint  outside  on  the  veranda.  Whin 
he  whishtled  they  began  to  rage  roun'  the 
room  an'  carry  on  tremenjus.  But  I  niver 
want  to  hear  men  laugh  as  they  did  — 
skylarkin'  too!  'Twas  like  mad  jackals. 

"  '  Shtop  that  blasted  noise! '  sez  O'Hara 
in  the  dark,  an'  pop  goes  the  room  lamp. 
I  cud  hear  O'Hara  runnin'  up  an'  the  rat- 
tlin'  av  my  rifle  in  the  rack  an'  the  men 
breathin'  heavy  as  they  stud  roun'  my  cot. 
I  cud  see  O'Hara  in  the  light  av  the 
veranda  lamp,  an'  thin  I  heard  the  crack 
av  my  rifle.  She  cried  loud,  poor  darlint, 
bein'  mishandled.  Next  minut  five  men 
were  houldin'  me  down.  '  Go  easy,'  I  sez; 
4  f what's  ut  all  about?  ' 

"  Thin  Vulmea,  on  the  flure,  raised  a 
howl  you  cud  hear  from  wan  ind  av  can- 
tonmints  to  the  other.  '  I'm  dead,  I'm 
butchered,  I'm  blind!'  sez  he.  'Saints 
have  mercy  on  my  sinful  sowl!  Sind  for 


Black  Jack  131 

Father  Constant!  Oh,  sind  for  Father 
Constant  an'  let  me  go  clean ! '  By  that 
I  knew  he  was  not  so  dead  as  I  cud  ha' 
wished. 

"  O'Hara  picks  up  the  lamp  in  the 
veranda  wid  a  hand  as  stiddy  as  a  rest. 
'  Fwhat  damned  dog's  thrick  is  this  av 
yours? '  sez  he,  and  turns  the  light  on  Tim 
Vulmea  that  was  shwimmin'  in  blood  from 
top  to  toe.  The  fallin'-block  had  sprung 
free  behin'  a  full  charge  av  powther — 
good  care  I  tuk  to  bite  down  the  brass 
afther  takin'  out  the  bullet  that  there 
might  be  somethin'  to  give  ut  full  worth  — 
an'  had  cut  Tim  from  the  lip  to  the  corner 
av  the  right  eye,  lavin'  the  eyelid  in  tat- 
thers,  an'  so  up  an'  along  by  the  forehead 
to  the  hair.  Twas  more  av  a  rakin'  plow, 
if  you  will  ondherstand,  than  a  clean  cut; 
an'  niver  did  I  see  a  man  bleed  as  Vulmea 
did.  The  dhrink  an'  the  stew  that  he  was 
in  pumped  the  blood  strong.  The  minut 
the  men  sittin'  on  my  chest  heard  O'Hara 
spakin'  they  scatthered  each  wan  to  his 
cot,  an'  cried  out  very  politeful :  '  Fwhat 
is  ut,  sargint?' 

"'Fwhat  is  ut!'  sez  O'Hara,  shakin' 
Tim.  '  Well  an'  good  do  you  know  fwhat 
ut  is,  ye  skulkin'  ditch-lurkin'  dogs!  Get 
a  doolie,  an'  take  this  whimperin'  scut 
away.  There  will  be  more  heard  av  ut 
than  any  av  you  will  care  for.' 


L$Z  Soldiers  Three 

"Vulmea  sat  up  rockin'  his  head  in  his 
hand  an'  moanin'  for  Father  Constant. 

"  '  Be  done! '  sez  O'Hara,  dhraggin'  him 
up  by  the  hair.  '  You're  none  so  dead  that 
you  can  not  go  fifteen  years  for  thryin'  to 
shoot  me.' 

'"I  did  not/  sez  Vulmea;  'I  was 
shootin'  mesilf.' 

"'That's  quare/  sez  O'Hara,  'for  the 
front  av  my  jackut  is  black  wid  your  pow- 
ther.'  He  tuk  up  the  rifle  that  was  still 
warm  an'  began  to  laugh.  *  I'll  make 
your  life  hell  to  you,'  sez  he, '  for  attempted 
murdher  an'  kapin'  your  rifle  onproperly. 
You'll  be  hanged  first  an'  thin  put  undher 
stoppages  for  four  fifteen.  The  rifle's 
done  for,'  sez  he. 

" '  Why,  'tis  my  rifle ! '  sez  I,  comin'  up 
to  look;  *  Vulmea,  ye  divil,  fwhat  were  you 
doin*  wid  her  —  answer  me  that?' 

"'Lave  me  alone/  sez  Vulmea;  '  I'm 
dyin'!' 

"'I'll  wait  till  you're  betther/  sez  I, 
'  an*  thin  we  two  will  talk  tit  out 
umbrageous.' 

"  O'Hara  pitched  Tim  into  the  doolie, 
none  too  tinder,  but  all  the  bhoys  kep'  by 
their  cots,  which  was  not  the  sign  av  inno- 
tint  men.  I  was  huntin'  ivrywhere  for  my 
fallin'-block,  but  not  findin'  ut  at  all  I 
niver  found  ut. 

" '  Now  fwhat  will  I  do?  *  sez  O'Hara, 


Black  Jack  133 

swinging  the  veranda  light  in  his  hand  anf 
lookin'  down  the  room  I  had  hate  and 
contimpt  av  O'Hara  an'  I  have  now,  dead 
tho'  he  is,  but,  for  all  that,  will  I  say  he 
was  a  brave  man.  He  is  baskin'  in  purga- 
thory  this  tide,  but  I  wish  he  cud  hear  that, 
whin  he  stud  lookin'  down  the  room  an' 
the  bhoys  shivered  before  the  oi  av  him, 
I  knew  him  for  a  brave  man  an*  I  liked 
him  so. 

'  *  Fwhat  will  1  do? '  sez  O'Hara  ag'in, 
an*  we  heard  the  voice  av  a  woman  low 
an*  sof  in  the  veranda.  Twas  Slimmy's 
wife,  come  over  at  the  shot,  sittin*  on  wan 
av  the  benches  an'  scarce  able  to  walk. 

Oh,  Denny  —  Denny  dear,'  sez  she, 
'  have  they  kilt  you? ' 

"  O'Hara  looked  down  the  room  again 
an*  showed  his  teeth  to  the  gum.  Then 
he  spat  on  the  flure. 

You're  not  worth  ut,'  sez  he,  '  Light 
that  lamp,  ye  dogs,"  an*  wid  that  he  turned 
away»  an;  I  saw  him  walkin'  off  wid 
Slimmy's  wife;  she  thryin'  to  wipe  off  the 
powther-black  on  the  front  av  his  jackut 
wid  her  handkerchief.  *  A  brave  man  you 
are/  thinks  I  —  'a  brave  man  an'  a  bad 
woman.1 

"  No  wan  said  a  word  for  a  time.  They 
was  all  ashamed,  past  spache, 

""Fwhat  d'you  think  he  wfll  do?*  set 


134  Soldiers  Three 

wan  av  thim  at  last.  '  He  knows  we're  all 
in  ut.' 

" '  Are  we  so? '  sez  I  from  my  cot  '  The 
man  that  sez  that  to  me  will  be  hurt  I 
do  not  know/  sez  I,  '  fwhat  onderhand 
divilmint  you  have  conthrived,  but  by 
what  I've  seen  I  know  that  you  can  not 
commit  murdher  wid  another  man's  rifle 
—  such  shakin'  cowards  you  are.  I'm 
goin'  to  slape,'  I  sez,  '  an*  you  can  blow 
my  head  off  whoile  I  lay.'  I  did  not  slape, 
though,  for  a  long  time.  Can  ye  wonder? 

"  Next  morn  the  news  was  through  all 
the  rig'mint,  an'  there  was  nothin'  that  the 
men  did  not  tell.  O'Hara  reports,  fair  an' 
easy,  that  Vulmea  was  come  to  grief 
through  tamperin'  wid  his  rifle  in  barricks, 
all  for  to  show  the  mechanism.  An'  by 
my  sowl,  he  had  the  impart'nince  to  say 
that  he  was  on  the  shpot  at  the  time  an* 
cud  certify  that  ut  was  an  accidint!  You 
might  ha'  knocked  my  roomful  down  wid  a 
straw  whin  they  heard  that.  Twas  lucky 
for  thim  that  the  bhoys  were  always 
thryin'  to  find  out  how  the  new  rifle  was 
made,  an'  a  lot  av  thim  had  come  up  for 
easin'  the  pull  by  shtickin'  bits  av  grass  an* 
such  in  the  part  av  the  lock  that  showed 
near  the  thrigger.  The  first  issues  of  the 
Tinis  was  not  covered  in,  an*  I  mesilf  have 
eased  the  pull  av  mine  time  an'  ag'in.  A 
light  pull  is  ten  points  on  the  range  to  me. 


Black  Jack  135 

"'I  will  not  have  this  foolishness!'  sez 
the  colonel.  '  I  will  twist  the  tail  off  Vul- 
mea!'  sez  he;  but  whin  he  saw  him,  all 
tied  up  an'  groanin'  in  hospital,  he 
changed  his  mind.  '  Make  him  an  early 
convalescent,'  sez  he  to  the  doctor,  an'  Vul- 
mea  was  made  so  for  a  warnin'.  His  big 
bloody  bandages  an'  face  puckered  up  to 
wan  side  did  more  to  kape  the  bhoys  from 
messin*  wid  the  insides  av  their  rifles  than 
any  punishment. 

"  O'Hara  gave  no  reason  for  fwhat  he'd 
said,  an'  all  my  rbomful  were  too  glad  to 
inquire  tho'  he  put  his  spite  upon  thim 
more  wearin'  than  before.  Wan  day,  how- 
iver,  he  tuk  me  apart  very  polite,  for  he 
cud  be  that  at  the  choosin'. 

"'You're  a  good  sodger,  tho'  you're  a 
damned  insolint  man,'  sez  he. 

" '  Fair  words,  sargint,'  sez  I,  '  or  I  may 
be  insolent  ag'in.' 

"'Tis  not  like  you,'  sez  he,  'to  lave 
your  rifle  in  the  rack  widout  the  breech* 
pin,  for  widout  the  breech-pin  she  was  whin 
Vulmea  fired.  I  should  ha*  found  the 
break  av  ut  in  the  eyes  av  the  holes,  else,' 
he  sez. 

" '  Sargint/  sez  I,  '  fwhat  wud  your  life 
ha*  been  worth  av  the  breech-pin  had  been 
in  place,  for,  on  my  sowl,  my  life  wud  be 
worth  just  as  much  to  me  av  I  towld  you 


136 


Soldiers  Three 


whether  ut  was  or  was  not    Be  thankful 
the  bullet  was  not  there/  I  sez. 

"'That's  thrue/  sez  he,  pulling  his  mus 
tache;  'but  I  do  not  believe  that  you,  for 
all  your  lip,  was  in  that  business.' 

" '  Sargint/  sez  I, '  I  cud  hammer  the  life 
out  av  a  man  in  ten  minuts  wid  my  fistes  if 
that  man  dishpleasd  me;  for  I  am  a  good 
sodger,  an'  I  will  be  threated  as  such,  an' 
whoile  my  fistes  are  my  own  they're  strong 
enough  for  all  work  I  have  to  do.  They 
do  not  fly  back  towards  me! '  sez  I,  lookin* 
him  betune  the  eyes. 

"'You're  a  good  man,'  sez  he,  lookin' 
me  betune  the  eyes  —  an*  oh,  he  was  a 
gran*  built  man  to  see  — '  you're  a  good 
man/  he  sez, '  an'  I  cud  wish,  for  the  pure 
frolic  av  ut,  that  I  was  not  a  sargint,  or 
that  you  were  not  a  privit;  an'  you  will 
think  me  no  coward  whin  I  say  this  thing/ 

" '  I  do  not/  sez  I.  '  I  saw  you  whin  Vul- 
mea  mishandled  the  rifle.  But,  sargint/  I 
sez,  *  take  the  wurrd  from  me  now,  spakin' 
as  man  to  man  wid  the  shtripes  off,  tho* 
'tis  little  right  I  have  to  talk,  me  being 
fwhat  I  am  by  natur*.  This  time  ye  tuk  no 
harm,  an*  next  time  ye  may  not,  but,  in  the 
ind,  so  sure  as  Slimmy's  wife  came  into  the 
veranda,  so  sure  will  ye  take  harm  —  an' 
bad  harm.  Have  thought,  sargint/  sez  I. 
'Is  ut  worth  ut?' 

" '  Ye're  a  bowld  man/  sez  he,  breathin1 


Black  Jack  137 

Tiard.  'A  very  bowld  man.  But  I  am  a 
bowld  man  tu.  Do  you  go  your  way,  Pri- 
vit  Mulvaney,  an'  I  will  go  mine/ 

"We  had  no  further  spache  thin  or  af- 
ther,  but,  wan  by  another,  he  drafted  the 
twelve  av  my  room  out  into  other  rooms 
an'  got  thim  spread  among  the  comp'nies, 
for  they  was  not  a  good  breed  to  live  to- 
gether, an*  the  comp'ny  orfcers  saw  ut. 
They  wud  ha'  shot  me  in  the  night  av  they 
had  known  fwhat  I  knew;  but  that  they 
did  not. 

"An',  in  the  ind,  as  I  said,  O'Hara  met 
his  death  from  Rafferty  for  foolin'  wid  his 
wife.  He  wint  his  own  way  too  well  — 
Eyah,  too  well!  Shtraight  to  that  affair, 
widout  turnin'  to  the  right  or  to  the  lef , 
he  wint,  an'  may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on 
his  sowl.  Amin! " 

"'Ear!  'Ear!"  said  Ortheris,  pointing 
the  moral  with  a  wave  of  his  pipe.  "An* 
this  is  'im  'oo  would  be  a  bloomin'  Vul- 
mea  all  for  the  sake  of  Mullins  an'  a  bloom- 
in'  button!  Mullins  never  went  after  a 
woman  in  his  life.  Mrs.  Mullins,  she  saw 
'im  one  day " 

"  Ortheris,"  I  said,  hastily,  for  the  ro- 
mances of  Private  Ortheris  are  slightly  too 
daring  for  publication,  "look  at  the  sun, 
It's  a  quarter  past  six!" 

"Oh,  Lord!    Three  quarters  of  an  hour 


138  Soldiers  Three 


for  five  an'  a  'arf  miles!  We'll  'ave  to  run 
like  Jimmy  O  " 

The  Three  Musketeers  clambered  on  to 
the  bridge,  and  departed  hastily  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  cantonment  road.  When  I 
overtook  them  I  offered  them  two  stirrups 
and  a  tail,  which  they  accepted  enthusias- 
tically. Ortheris  held  the  tail,  and  in  this 
manner  we  trotted  steadily  through  the 
•shadows  by  an  unfrequented  road. 

At  the  turn  into  the  cantonments  we 
heard  carriage  wheels.  It  was  the  colonel's 
'barouche,  and  in  it  sat  the  colonel's  wife 
and  daughter.  I  caught  a  suppressed 
chuckle,  and  my  beast  sprung  forward  with 
a  lighter  step 

The  Three  Musketeers  had  vanished  into 
the  night. 


L'ENVOI 


AND  they  were  stronger  hands  than  mine 
That    digged    the    Ruby    from    the 

earth  — 
More   cunning  brains   that   made   it 

worth 

The  large  desire  of  a  King; 
And  bolder  hearts  that  through  the  brine 
Went  down  the  Perfect  Pearl  to  bring. 

Lo,  I  have  wrought  in  common  clay 

Rude  figures  of  a  rough-hewn  race; 
For  Pearls  strew  not  the  market-place 
In  this  my  town  of  banishment, 
Where  with  the  shifting  dust  I  play 
And  eat  the  bread  of  Discontent. 

Yet  is  there  life  in  that  I  make  — 

Oh,  Thou  who  knowest,  turn  and  see, 
As  Thou  hast  power  over  me, 
So  have  I  power  over  these, 
Because  I  wrought  them  for  Thy  sake, 
And  breathed  in  them  mine  agonies. 

139 


140  Soldiers  Three 

Small  mirth  was  in  the  making.    Now 
I  lift  the  cloth  that  cloaks  the  clay, 
And,  wearied,  at  Thy  feet  I  lay 
My  wares  ere  I  go  forth  to  selL 
The  long  bazaar  will  praise  —  but  Thou 
Heart  of  my  heart,  have  I  done  well? 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 


....  Not  only  to  enforce  by  command  but 
to  encourage  by  example  the  energetic  discharge 
of  duty  and  the  steady  endurance  of  the  difficul> 
ties  and  privations  inseparable  from  Military  Ser- 
vice.— Bengal  Army  Regulations. 

THEY  made  Bobby  Wick  pass  an  exam- 
ination at  Sandhurst  He  was  a  gentleman 
before  he  was  gazetted,  so,  when  the  em- 
press announced  that  "  Gentleman-Cadet 
Robert  Hanna  Wick  "  was  posted  as  second 
lieutenant  to  the  Tyneside  Tail  Twisters  at 
Krab  Bokhar,  he  became  an  officer  and  a 
gentleman,  which  is  an  enviable  thing;  and 
there  was  joy  in  the  house  of  Wick  where 
Mamma  Wick  and  all  the  little  Wicks  fell 
upon  their  knees  and  offered  incense  to 
Bobby  by  virtue  of  his  achievements. 

Papa  Wick  had  been  a  commissioner  in 
his  day,  holding  authority  over  three  mil- 
lions of  men  in  the  Chota-Buldana  Division, 
building  great  works  for  the  good  of  the 
land,  and  doing  his  best  to  make  two  blades 
of  grass  grow  where  there  was  but  one  be- 
fore. Of  course  nobody  knew  anything 
141 


142  Soldiers  Three 

about  this  in  the  little  English  village  where 
he  was  just  "  old  Mr.  Wick  "  and  had  for- 
gotten that  he  was  a  Companion  of  the  Or- 
der of  the  Star  of  India. 

He  patted  Bobby  on  the  shoulder  and 
said:  "Well  done,  my  boy!" 

There  followed,  while  the  uniform  was 
being  prepared,  an  interval  of  pure  delight, 
during  which  Bobby  took  brevet-rank  as  a 
"  man  "  at  the  women-swamped  tennis  par- 
ties and  tea-fights  of  the  village,  and,  I  dare 
say,  had  his  joining-time  been  extended, 
would  have  fallen  in  love  with  several  girls 
at  once.  Little  country  villages  at  home 
are  very  full  of  nice  girls,  because  all  the 
young  men  come  out  here  to  make  their 
fortunes. 

**  India,"  said  Papa  Wick,  "  is  the  place. 
I've  had  thirty  years  of  it,  and,  begad,  I'd 
like  to  go  back  again.  When  you  join  the 
Tail  Twisters  you'll  be  among  friends,  if 
every  one  hasn't  forgotten  Wick  of  Chota- 
Buldana,  and  a  lot  of  people  will  be  kind 
to  you  for  our  sakes.  The  men  will  tell 
you  more  about  outfit  than  I  can;  but  re- 
member this.  Stick  to  your  regiment, 
Bobby  —  stick  to  your  regiment.  You'll 
see  men  all  round  you  going  into  the  staff 
corps,  and  doing  every  possible  sort  of 
duty  but  regimental,  and  you  may  be 
tempted  to  follow  suit.  Now  so  long  as 
you  keep  within  your  allowance  -  -  and  I 


Only  A  Subaltern          143 

haven't  stinted  you  there  —  stick  to  the 
line  —  the  whole  line  and  nothing  but  the 
line.  Be  careful  how  you  back  another 
young  fool's  bill,  and  if  you  fall  in  love 
with  a  woman  twenty  years  older  than 
yourself,  don't  tell  me  about  it,  that's  all." 

With  these  counsels,  and  many  others 
equally  valuable,  did  Papa  Wick  fortify 
Bobby  ere  that  last  awful  night  at  Ports* 
mouth  when  the  officers'  quarters  held 
more  inmates  than  were  provided  for  by 
the  regulations,  and  the  liberty-men  of  the 
ships  fell  foul  of  the  drafts  for  India,  and 
the  battle  raged  long  and  loud  from  the 
dock-yard  gates  even  to  the  slums  of 
Longport,  while  the  drabs  of  Fratton  came 
down  and  scratched  the  faces  of  the 
queen's  officers. 

Bobby  Wick,  with  an  ugly  bruise  on  his 
freckled  nose,  a  sick  and  shaky  detach- 
ment to  maneuver  in-ship  and  the  com- 
fort of  fifty  scornful  females  to  attend  to, 
had  no  time  to  feel  homesick  till  the 
"  Malabar  "  reached  midchannel,  when  he 
combined  his  emotions  with  a  little  guard- 
visiting  and  a  great  deal  of  nausea. 

The  Tail  Twisters  were  a  most  particu- 
lar regiment.  Those  who  knew  them 
least  said  that  they  were  eaten  up  with 
"side."  But  their  reserve  and  their  inter- 
nal arrangements  generally  were  merdy 
protective  diplomacy.  Some  five  years  be- 


144  Soldiers  Three 

fore,  the  colonel  commanding  had  looked 
into  the  fourteen  fearless  eyes  of  seven 
plump  and  juicy  subalterns  who  had  all 
applied  to  enter  the  staff  corps,  and  had 
asked  them  why  the  three  stars  should  he, 
a  colonel  of  the  line,  command  a  dashed 
nursery  for  double-dashed  bottle-suckers 
who  put  on  condemned  tin  spurs  and  rode 
qualified  mokes  at  the  hiatused  heads  of 
forsaken  black  regiments.  He  was  a  rude 
man  and  a  terrible.  Wherefore  the  rem- 
nant took  measures  (with  the  half-butt  as 
an  engine  of  public  opinion)  till  the  rumor 
went  abroad  that  young  men  who  used  the 
Tail  Twisters  as  a  crutch  to  the  staff  corps 
had  many  and  varied  trials  to  endure. 
However,  a  regiment  had  just  as  much 
right  to  its  own  secrets  as  a  woman. 

When  Bobby  came  up  from  Deolali  and 
took  his  place  among  the  Tail  Twisters,  it 
was  gently  but  firmly  borne  in  upon  him 
that  the  regiment  was  his  father  and  his 
mother  and  his  indissolubly  wedded  wife, 
and  that  there  was  no  crime  under  the 
canopy  of  heaven  blacker  than  that  of 
bringing  shame  on  the  regiment,  which 
was  the  best-shooting,  best-drilled,  best 
set-up,  bravest,  most  illustrious,  and  in  all 
respects  most  desirable  regiment  within 
the  compass  of  the  seven  seas.  He  was 
taught  the  legends  of  the  mess  plate,  from 
the  great  grinning  golden  gods  that  had 


Only  A  Subaltern          145 

come  out  of  the  Summer  Palace  in  Pekin 
to  the  silver-mounted  markhor-horn  snuff- 
mull  presented  by  the  last  C.  O.  (he  who 
spake  to  the  seven  subalterns).  And  every 
one  of  those  legends  told  him  of  battles 
fought  at  long  odds,  without  fear  as  with- 
out support;  of  hospitality  catholic  as  an 
Arab's;  of  friendships  deep  as  the  sea  and 
steady  as  the  fighting-line;  of  honor  won 
by  hard  roads  for  honor's  sake;  and  of  in- 
stant and  unquestioning  devotion  to  the 
regiment  —  the  regiment  that  claims  the 
lives  of  all  and  lives  forever. 

More  than  once,  too,  he  came  officially 
into  contact  with  the  regimental  colors, 
which  looked  like  the  lining  of  a  bricklay- 
er's hat  on  the  end  of  a  chewed  stick. 
Bobby  did  not  kneel  and  worship  them, 
because  British  subalterns  are  not  con- 
structed in  that  manner.  Indeed,  he  con- 
demned them  for  their  weight  at  the  very 
moment  that  they  were  filling  with  awe 
and  other  more  noble  sentiments. 

But  best  of  all  was  the  occasion  when 
he  moved  with  the  Tail  Twisters  in  review 
order  at  the  breaking  of  a  November  day. 
Allowing  for  duty-men  and  sick,  the  regi- 
ment was  one  thousand  and  eighty  strong, 
and  Bobby  belonged  to  them;  for  was  he 
not  a  subaltern  of  the  line  —  the  whole  line, 
and  nothing  but  the  line  —  as  the  tramp 
of  two  thousand  one  hundred  and  sixty 


146  Soldiers  Three 

sturdy  ammunition  boots  attested?  He 
would  not  have  changed  places  with 
Deighton  of  the  horse  battery,  whirling  by 
in  a  pillar  of  cloud  to  a  chorus  of  "  Strong 
right!  Strong  left!"  or  Hogan-Yale  of 
the  White  Hussars,  leading  his  squadron 
for  all  it  was  worth,  with  the  price  of  horse- 
shoes thrown  in ;  or  "  Tick  "  Boileau,  try- 
ing to  live  up  to  his  fierce  blue  and  gold 
turban  while  the  wasps  of  the  Bengal  Cav- 
alry stretched  to  a  gallop  in  the  wake  of 
the  long,  lolloping  Walers  of  the  White 
Hussars. 

They  fought  through  the  clear  cool  day, 
and  Bobby  felt  a  little  thrill  run  down  his 
spine  when  he  heard  the  tinkle-tinkle-tin- 
kle of  the  empty  cartridge-cases  hopping 
from  the  breech-blocks  after  the  roar  of  the 
volleys;  for  he  knew  that  he  should  live 
to  hear  that  sound  in  action.  The  review 
ended  in  a  glorious  chase  across  the  plain 
—  batteries  thundering  after  cavalry  to  the 
huge  disgust  of  the  White  Hussars,  and 
the  Tyneside  Tail  Twisters  hunting  a  Sikh 
regiment,  till  the  lean  lathy  Singhs  panted 
with  exhaustion.  Bobby  was  dusty  and 
dripping  long  before  noon,  but  his  enthu- 
siasm was  merely  focused  —  not  dimin- 
ished. 

He  returned  to  sit  at  the  feet  of  Revere, 
his  "  skipper  " —  that  is  to  say,  the  captain 
of  his  company,  and  to  be  instructed  in  the 


Only  A  Subaltern         147 

dark  art  and  mystery  of  managing  men, 
which  is  a  very  large  part  of  the  profession 
of  arms. 

"  If  you  haven't  a  taste  that  way,"  said 
Revere  between  his  puffs  of  his  cheroot, 
"you'll  never  be  able  to  get  the  hang  of 
it,  but  remember,  Bobby,  't  isn't  the  best 
drill,  though  drill  is  nearly  everything,  that 
hauls  a  regiment  through  hell  and  out  on 
the  other  side.  It's  the  man  who  knows 
how  to  handle  men  —  goat-men,  swine 
men,  dog-men,  and  so  on." 

"  Dormer,  for  instance,"  said  Bobby 
"  I  think  he  comes  under  the  head  of  fool 
men.  He  mopes  like  a  sick  owl." 

"That's  where  you  make  your  mistake, 
my  son.  Dormer  isn't  a  fool  yet,  but  he's 
a  dashed  dirty  soldier,  and  his  room  cor- 
poral  makes  fun  of  his  socks  before  kit 
inspection.  Dormer,  being  two  thirds 
pure  brute,  goes  into  a  corner  and  growls/1' 

"  How  do  you  know? "  said  Bobby., 
admiringly. 

"  Because  a  company  commander  has  to 
know  these  things  —  because  if  he  does  not 
know,  he  may  have  crime  —  ay,  murder  ~ 
brewing  under  his  very  nose  and  yet  not 
see  that  it's  there.  Dormer  is  being  bad- 
gered out  of  his  mind  —  big  as  he  is  — 
and  he  hasn't  intellect  enough  to  resent  it 
He's  taken  to  quiet  boozing.  Bobby, 
when  the  butt  of  a  room  goes  on  the  drink,, 


148 


Soldiers  Three 


or  takes  to  moping  by  himself,  measures 
are  necessary  to  yank  him  out  of  himself." 

"  What  measures  ?  Man  can't  run  round 
coddling  his  men  forever." 

"  No.  The  men  would  precious  soon 
show  him  that  he  was  not  wanted.  You've 
got  to  —" 

Here  the  color-sergeant  entered  with 
some  papers;  Bobby  reflected  for  awhile  as 
Revere  looked  through  the  company  forms. 

**  Does  Dormer  do  anything,  sergeant?  " 
Bobby  asked  with  the  air  of  one  continu- 
ing an  interrupted  conversation. 

"  No ,  sir.  Does  'is  dooty  like  a  hor- 
tomato,"  said  the  sergeant,  who  delighted 
in  long  words.  "A  dirty  soldier,  an  'e's 
under  full  stoppages  for  new  kit.  It's  cov- 
ered with  scales,  sir." 

"Scales?    What  scales?'* 

"  Fish  scales,  sir.  'E's  always  pokin*  in 
the  mud  by  the  river  an'  a-cleanin'  them 
muchly  fish  with  'is  thumbs."  Revere 
was  still  absorbed  in  the  company  papers, 
and  the  sergeant,  who  was  grimly  fond  of 
Bobby,  continued:  "  'E  generally  goes 
down  there  when  Vs  got  'is  skinful,  beg- 
gin*  your  pardon,  sir,  an'  they  do  say  that 
the  more  lush  —  in-he-briated  'e  'is,  the 
more  fish  'e  catches.  They  call  him  the 
Looney  Fishmonger  in  the  comp'ny,  sir." 

Revere  signed  the  last  paper  and  the 
sergeant  retreated. 


Only  A  Subaltern         149 

"  It's  a  filthy  amusement,"  sighed  Bobby 
to  himself.  Then  aloud  to  Revere:  "Are 
you  really  worried  about  Dormer?  " 

"A  little.  You  see  he's  never  mad 
enough  to  send  to  hospital,  or  drunk 
enough  to  run  in,  but  at  any  minute  he 
may  flare  up,  brooding  and  sulking  as  he 
does.  He  resents  any  interest  being 
shown  in  him,  and  the  only  time  I  took 
him  out  shooting  he  all  but  shot  me  by 
accident." 

"  I  fish,"  said  Bobby,  with  a  wry  face. 
"  I  hire  a  company  boat  and  go  down  the 
river  from  Thursday  to  Sunday,  and  the 
amiable  Dormer  goes  with  me  —  if  you 
can  spare  us  both." 

"  You  blazing  young  fool !  "  said  Revere, 
but  his  heart  was  full  of  much  more  pleas- 
ant words. 

Bobby,  the  captain  of  a  dhoni,  with  Pri- 
vate Dormer  for  mate,  dropped  down  the 
river  on  Thursday  morning  —  the  private 
at  the  bow,  the  subaltern  at  the  helm. 
The  private  glared  uneasily  at  the  subal- 
tern, who  respected  the  reserve  of  the 
private. 

After  six  hours,  Dormer  paced  to  the 
stern,  saluted,  and  said:  "  Beg  y'  pardon, 
sir,  but  was  you  ever  on  the  Durh'm 
Canal?" 

"  No,"  said  Bobby  Wick.  "  Come  and 
have  some  tiffin." 


150  Soldiers  Three 

They  eat  in  silence.  As  the  evening  fell, 
Private  Dormer  broke  forth,  speaking  to 
himself: 

"  Hi  was  on  the  Durh'm  Canal,  jes'  such 
a  night,  come  next  week  twelvemonth, 
a-trailin'  of  my  toes  in  the  water."  He 
smoked  and  said  no  more  till  bedtime. 

The  witchery  of  the  dawn  turned  the 
gray  river  reaches  to  purple,  gold,  and 
opal;  and  it  was  as  though  the  lumbering 
dhoni  crept  across  the  splendors  of  a  new 
heaven. 

Private  Dormer  popped  his  head  out  of 
his  blanket  and  gazed  at  the  glory  below 
and  around. 

u  Well,  damn  my  eyes ! "  said  Private 
Dormer  in  an  awed  whisper.  "  This  'ere 
is  like  a  bloomin'  gallantry-show!"  For 
the  rest  of  the  day  he  was  dumb,  but 
achieved  an  ensanguined  filthiness  through 
the  cleaning  of  big  fish. 

The  boat  returned  on  Saturday  evening. 
Dormer  had  been  struggling  with  speech 
since  noon.  As  the  lines  and  luggage 
were  being  disembarked,  he  found  tongue. 

"  Beg  y'  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  "  but 
would  you  —  would  you  min'  shakin'  'ands 
with  me,  sir?  " 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Bobby,  and  he 
shook  accordingly.  Dormer  returned  to 
barracks  and  Bobby  to  mess. 

"  He  wanted  a  little  quiet  and  some  fish- 


Only  A  Subaltern          151 

ing,  I  think,"  said  Bobby.  "  My  aunt,  but 
he's  a  filthy  sort  of  animal!  Have  you 
ever  seen  him  clean  'them  muchly  fish 
with  'is  thumbs?" 

"Anyhow,"  said  Revere  three  weeks 
later,  "  he's  doing  his  best  to  keep  his 
things  clean." 

When  the  spring  died,  Bobby  joined  in 
the  general  scramble  for  Hill  leave,  and  to 
his  surprise  and  delight  secured  three 
months. 

"  As  good  a  boy  as  I  want,"  said  Revere, 
the  admiring  skipper. 

"  The  best  of  the  batch,"  said  the  adju- 
tant to  the  colonel.  "  Keep  back  that 
young  skrimshanker  Porkiss,  sir,  and  let 
Revere  make  him  sit  up." 

So  Bobby  departed  joyously  to  Simla 
Pahar  with  a  tin  box  of  gorgeous  raiment. 

"Son  of  Wick  — old  Wick,  of  Chota- 
Buldana?  Ask  him  to  dinner,  dear,"  said 
the  aged  men. 

"What  a  nice  boy!"  said  the  matrons 
and  the  maids. 

"  First-class  place,  Simla.  Oh,  ri — ip- 
ping!  "  said  Bobby  Wick,  and  ordered  new 
cord  breeches  on  the  strength  of  it. 

"We're  in  a  bad  way,"  wrote  Revere  to 
Bobby  at  the  end  of  two  months.  "  Since 
you  left,  the  regiment  has  taken  to  fever 
and  is  fairly  rotten  with  it  —  two  hundred 
tn  hospital,  about  a  hundred  in  cells  — 


152  Soldiers  Three 

drinking  to  keep  off  fever  —  and  the  com- 
panies on  parade  fifteen  file  strong  at  the 
outside.  There's  rather  more  sickness  in 
the  out-villages  than  I  care  for,  but  then 
I'm  so  blistered  with  prickly-heat  that  I'm 
ready  to  hang  myself.  What's  the  yarn 
about  your  mashing  a  Miss  Haverley  up 
there?  Not  serious,  I  hope?  You're  over- 
young  to  hang  mill-stones  round  your  neck, 
and  the  colonel  will  turf  you  out  of  that  in 
double-quick  time  if  you  attempt  it." 

It  was  not  the  colonel  that  brought 
Bobby  out  of  Simla,  but  a  much  more  to 
be  respected  commandant.  The  sickness 
in  the  out-villages  spread,  the  bazaar  was 
put  out  of  bounds,  and  then  came  the  news 
that  the  Tail  Twisters  must  go  into  camp, 
The  message  flashed  to  the  Hill  stations: 
"  Cholera  —  Leave  stopped  —  Officers  re- 
called." Alas,  for  the  white  gloves  in 
the  neatly  soldered  boxes,  the  rides  and  the 
dances  and  picnics  that  were  to  be,  the  love 
half  spoken,  and  the  debt  unpaid!  With- 
out demur  and  without  question,  fast 
as  tongue  could  fly  or  pony  gallop,  back  to 
their  regiments  and  their  batteries,  as 
though  they  were  hastening  to  their  wed- 
dings, fled  the  subalterns. 

Bobby  received  his  mandate  on  return- 
ing from  a  dance  at  Viceregal  Lodge,  where 
he  had —  But  only  the  Haverley  girl 
knows  what  Bobby  had  said  or  how  many 


Only  A  Subaltern          153 

waltzes  he  had  claimed  for  the  next  balL 
Six  in  the  morning  saw  Bobby  at  the  Tonga 
Office  in  the  drenching  rain,  the  whirl  of 
the  last  waltz  still  in  his  ears,  and  an  in- 
toxication due  neither  to  wine  nor  waltzing 
in  his  brain. 

"  Good  man !  "  shouted  Deighton  of  the 
horse  battery  through  the  mists.  "Whar 
you  raise  dat  tonga?  I'm  coming  with  you, 
Ow!  But  I've  a  head  and  half.  I  didn't 
sit  out  all  night.  They  say  the  battery's 
awful  bad,"  and  he  hummed  dolorously: 

"  Leave  the  what  at  the  what's  its-name. 
Leave  the  flock  without  shelter, 
Leave  the  corpse  uninterred, 
Leave  the  bride  at  the  altar  I 

"My  faith!  It'll  be  more  bally  corpse 
than  bride,  though,  this  journey.  Jump  in, 
Bobby.  Chalo  Coachwan!" 

On  the  Umballa  platform  waited  a  de- 
tachment of  officers  discussing  the  latest 
news  from  the  stricken  cantonment,  and  it 
was  here  that  Bobby  learned  the  real  con- 
dition of  the  Tail  Twisters. 

"  They  went  into  camp,"  said  an  elderly 
major  recalled  from  the  whist-tables  at 
Mussoorie  to  a  sickly  native  regiment, 
"  they  went  into  camp  with  two  hundred 
and  ten  sick  in  carts.  Two  hundred  and 
ten  fever  cases  only,  and  the  balance  look- 
ing like  so  many  ghosts  with  sore  eyes. 


154  Soldiers  Three 

A  Madras  regiment  could  have  walked 
through  'em! " 

"  But  they  were  as  fit  as  bedamned  when 
I  left  them!  "  said  Bobby. 

"Then  you'd  better  make  them  as  fit 
as  bedamned  when  you  rejoin,"  said  the 
major,  brutally. 

Bobby  pressed  his  forehead  against  the 
rain-splashed  window-pane  as  the  train 
lumbered  across  the  sodden  Doab,  and 
prayed  for  the  hetlah  of  the  Tyneside  Tail 
Twisters.  Naini  Tal  had  sent  down  her 
contingent  with  all  speed;  the  lathering 
ponies  of  the  Dalhousie  Road  staggered 
into  Pathankot,  taxed  to  the  full  stretch 
of  their  strength;  while  from  cloudy  Dar- 
jiling  the  Calcutta  mail  whirled  up  the  last 
straggler  of  the  little  army  that  was  to  fight 
a  fight,  in  which  was  neither  medal  nor 
honor  for  the  winning,  against  an  enemy 
none  other  than  "  the  sickness  that  destroy- 
eth  in  the  noonday." 

And  as  each  man  reported  himself,  he 
said:  "This  is  a  bad  business,"  and  went 
about  his  own  forthwith,  for  every  regiment 
and  battery  in  the  cantonment  was  under 
canvas,  the  sickness  bearing  them  com- 
pany. 

Bobby  fought  his  way  through  the  rain 
to  the  Tail  Twisters'  temporary  mess,  and 
Revere  could  have  fallen  on  the  boy's  neck 


Only  A  Subaltern          155 

for  the  joy  of  seeing  that  ugly,  wholesome 
phiz  once  more. 

"  Keep  'em  amused  and  interested,"  said 
Revere.  "  They  went  on  the  drink,  poor 
fools,  after  the  first  two  cases,  and  there 
was  no  improvement.  Oh,  it's  good  to 
have  you  back,  Bobby!  Porkiss  is  a  — 
never  mind." 

Deighton  came  over  from  the  artillery 
camp  to  attend  a  dreary  mess  dinner,  and 
contributed  to  the  general  gloom  by  nearly 
weeping  over  the  condition  of  his  beloved 
battery.  Porkiss  so  far  forgot  himself  as 
to  insinuate  that  the  presence  of  the  officers 
could  do  no  earthly  good,  and  that  the  best 
thing  would  be  to  send  the  entire  regi- 
ment into  hospital  and  "  let  the  doctors  look 
after  them."  Porkiss  was  demoralized  with 
fear,  nor  was  his  peace  of  mind  restored 
when  Revere  said,  coldly: 

"  Oh !  The  sooner  you  go  out  the  bet- 
ter, if  that's  your  way  of  thinking.  Any 
public  school  could  send  us  fifty  good  men 
in  your  place,  but  it  takes  time,  time,  Por- 
kiss, and  money,  and  a  certain  amount  of 
trouble,  to  make  a  regiment.  'Spose  you're 
the  person  we  go  into  camp  for,  eh?" 

Whereupon  Porkiss  was  overtaken  with 
a  great  and  chilly  fear  which  a  drenching 
in  the  rain  did  not  allay,  and,  two  days 
later,  quitted  this  world  for  another  where, 
men  do  fondly  hope,  allowances  are  made 


I56 


Soldiers  Three 


for  the  weakness  of  the  flesh.  The  regi- 
mental sergeant-major  looked  wearily 
across  the  sergeants'  mess  tent  when  the 
news  was  announced. 

"  There  goes  the  worst  of  them,"  he  said. 
"  It'll  take  the  best,  and  then,  please  God, 
it'll  stop."  The  sergeants  were  silent  till 
one  said:  "It  couldn't  be  him!"  and  all 
knew  of  whom  Travis  was  thinking. 

Bobby  Wick  stormed  through  the  tents 
of  his  company,  rallying,  rebuking,  mildly, 
as  is  consistent  with  the  regulations,  chaf- 
fing the  faint-hearted;  hauling  the  sound 
into  the  watery  sunlight  when  there  was 
a  break  in  the  weather,  and  bidding  them 
to  be  of  good  cheer  for  their  trouble  was 
nearly  at  an  end;  scuttling  on  his  dun  pony 
round  the  outskirts  of  the  camp  and  head- 
ing back  men  who,  with  the  innate  per- 
versity of  British  soldiers,  were  always 
wandering  into  infected  villages,  or  drink- 
ing deeply  from  rain-flooded  marshes;  com- 
forting the  panic-stricken  with  rude  speech, 
and  more  than  once  tending  the  dying  who 
had  no  friends  —  the  men  without  "  town- 
ies;"  organizing,  with  banjos  and  burned 
cork,  sing-songs  which  should  allow  the 
talent  of  the  regiment  full  play;  and  gen- 
erally, as  he  explained,  "  playing  the  giddy 
garden  goat  all  round." 

"  You're  worth  half  a  dozen  of  us, 
Bobby,"  said  his  skipper  in  a  moment  of 


Orly  A  Subaltern          157 

enthusiasm.  "  How  the  devil  do  you  keep 
it  up?" 

Bobby  made  no  answer,  but  had  Revere 
looked  into  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat 
he  might  have  seen  there  a  sheaf  of  badly 
written  letters  which  perhaps  accounted  for 
the  power  that  possessed  the  boy.  A  let- 
ter came  to  Bobby  every  other  day.  The 
spelling  was  not  above  reproach,  but  the 
sentiments  must  have  been  most  satisfac- 
tory, for  on  receipt  Bobby's  eyes  softened 
marvelously,  and  he  was  wont  to  fall  into 
a  tender  abstraction  for  awhile  ere,  shaking 
his  cropped  head,  he  charged  into  his  work 
anew. 

By  what  power  he  drew  after  him  the 
hearts  of  the  roughest,  and  the  Tail  Twist- 
ers counted  in  their  ranks  some  rough 
diamonds  indeed,  was  a  mystery  to  both 
skipper  and  C.  O.,  who  learned  from  the 
regimental  chaplain  that  Bobby  was  con- 
siderably more  in  request  in  the  hospital 
tents  than  the  Reverend  John  Emery. 

"The  men  seem  fond  of  you.  Are  you 
in  the  hospitals  much?"  said  the  colonel, 
who  did  his  daily  round  and  ordered  the 
men  to  get  well  with  a  grimness  that  did 
not  cover  his  bitter  grief. 

"  A  little,  sir,"  said  Bobby. 

"  Shouldn't  go  there  too  often  if  I  were 
you.  They  say  it's  not  contagious,  but 
there's  no  use  in  running  unnecessary  risks. 


I58 


Soldiers  Three 


We  can't  afford  to  have  you  down,  y'know." 
Six  days  later,  it  was  with  the  utmost  dif- 
ficulty that  the  post-runner  plashed  his  way 
out  to  the  camp  with  the  mail-bags,  for  the 
rain  was  falling  in  torrents.  Bobby  re- 
ceived a  letter,  bore  it  off  to  his  tent,  and, 
the  programme  for  the  next  week's  sing- 
song being  satisfactorily  disposed  of,  sat 
down  to  answer  it.  For  an  hour  the  un- 
handy pen  toiled  over  the  paper,  and 
where  sentiment  rose  to  more  than  normal 
tide-level,  Bobby  Wick  stuck  out  his  tongue 
and  breathed  heavily.  He  was  not  used  to 
letter-writing. 

"  Beg  >''  pardon,  sir,"  said  a  voice  at  the 
tent  door;  "but  Dormer's  'orrid  bad,  sir, 
an'  they've  taken  him  orf,  sir." 

"  Damn  Private  Dormer  and  you  too! " 
said  Bobby  Wick,  running  the  blotter  over 
the  half-finished  letter.  "  Tell  him  I'll  come 
in  the  morning." 

''  'E's  awful  bad,  sir,"  said  the  voice,  hesi- 
tatingly. There  was  an  undecided  squelch- 
ing of  heavy  boots. 

"  Well?  "  said  Bobby,  impatiently. 

"Excusin'  'imself  before'and  for  takin* 
the  liberty,  'e  says  it  would  be  a  comfort  for 
to  assist  'im,  sir,  if " 

"  Tattoo  lao!  Here,  come  in  out  of  the 
rain  till  I'm  ready.  What  blasted  nuisances 
you  are!  That's  brandy.  Drink  some. 


Only  A  Subaltern          1 59 

You  want  it.  Hang  on  to  my  stirrup  and 
tell  me  if  I  go  too  fast." 

Strengthened  by  a  four-finger  "nip," 
which  he  absorbed  without  a  wink,  the  hos- 
pital orderly  kept  up  with  the  slipping, 
mud-stained,  and  very  disgusted  pony  as  it 
shambled  to  the  hospital  tent. 

Private  Dormer  was  certainly  "  'orrid 
bad."  He  had  all  but  reached  the  stage 
of  collapse  and  was  not  pleasant  to  look 
upon. 

"What's  this,  Dormer?"  said  Bobby, 
bending  over  the  man.  "  You're  not  going 
out  this  time.  You've  got  to  come  fishing 
with  me  once  or  twice  more  yet." 

The  blue  lips  parted  and  in  the  ghost  of 
a  whisper  said:  "Beg  y'  pardon,  sir,  dis- 
turbin'  of  you  now,  but  would  you  min' 
'oldin'  my  'and,  sir?  " 

Bobby  sat  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  the 
icy  cold  hand  closed  on  his  own  like  a  vise, 
forcing  a  lady's  ring  which  was  on  the 
little  finger  deep  into  the  flesh.  Bobby 
set  his  lips  and  waited,  the  water  dripping 
from  the  hem  of  his  trousers.  An  hour 
passed  and  the  grasp  of  the  hand  did  not 
relax,  nor  did  the  expression  of  the  drawn 
face  change.  Bobby  with  infinite  craft 
lighted  himself  a  cheroot  with  the  left  hand, 
his  right  arm  was  numbed  to  the  elbow, 
and  resigned  himself  to  a  night  of  pain. 

Dawn  showed  a  very  white-faced  subal^ 


160  Soldiers  Three 

tern  sitting  on  the  side  of  a  sick  man's  cot 
and  a  doctor  in  the  door-way  using  lan- 
guage unfit  for  publication. 

"  Have  you  been  here  all  night,  you 
young  ass?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"  There  or  thereabouts,"  said  Bobby,  rue- 
fully. "  He's  frozen  on  to  me." 

Dormer's  mouth  shut  with  a  click.  He 
turned  his  head  and  sighed.  The  clinging 
hand  opened,  and  Bobby's  arm  fell  useless 
at  his  side. 

"  He'll  do,"  said  the  doctor,  quietly.  "  It 
must  have  been  a  toss-up  all  through  the 
night.  Think  you're  to  be  congratulated 
on  this  case." 

"Oh,  bosh!"  said  Bobby.  "I  thought 
the  man  had  gone  out  long  ago  —  only  — • 
only  I  didn't  care  to  take  my  hand  away. 
Rub  my  arm  down,  there's  a  good  chap. 
What  a  grip  the  brute  has!  I'm  chilled 
to  the  marrow!  "  He  passed  out  of  the 
tent  shivering. 

Private  Dormer  was  allowed  to  celebrate 
his  repulse  of  death  by  strong  waters. 
Four  days  later,  he  sat  on  the  side  of  his 
cot  and  said  to  the  patients,  mildly:  "I'd 
V  liken  to  'a'  spoken  to  'im  —  so  I  should." 

But  at  that  time  Bobby  was  reading  yet 
another  letter  —  he  had  the  most  persist- 
ent correspondent  of  any  man  in  camp  — 
and  was  even  then  about  to  write  that  the 
sickness  had  abated,  and  in  another  week 


Only  A  Subaltern          161 

at  the  outside  would  be  gone.  He  did  not 
intend  to  say  that  the  chill  of  a  sick  man's 
hand  seemed  to  have  struck  into  the  heart 
whose  capacities  for  affection  he  dwelt  on 
at  such  length.  He  did  intend  to  inclose 
the  illustrated  programme  of  the  forthcom- 
ing sing-song  whereof  he  was  not  a  little 
proud.  He  also  intended  to  write  on  many 
other  matters  which  do  not  concern  us, 
and  doubtless  would  have  done  so  but  for 
the  slight  feverish  headache  which  made 
him  dull  and  unresponsive  at  mess. 

"  You  are  overdoing  it,  Bobby,"  said  his 
skipper;  "  'might  give  the  rest  of  us  credit 
of  doing  a  little  work.  You  go  on  as  if 
you  were  the  whole  mess  rolled  into  one. 
Take  it  easy." 

"I  will,"  said  Bobby.  "I'm  feeling 
done  up,  somehow."  Revere  looked  at 
him  anxiously  and  said  nothing.  There 
was  a  flickering  of  lanterns  about  the  camp 
that  night,  and  a  rumor  that  brought  men 
out  of  their  cots  to  the  tent  doors,  a  pad- 
dling of  the  naked  feet  of  doolie-bearers 
and  the  rush  of  a  galloping  horse. 

"Wot's  up?"  asked  twenty  tents;  and 
through  twenty  tents  ran  the  answer: 
"  Wick,  Vs  down." 

They  brought  the  news  to  Revere  and 
he  groaned.  "  Any  one  but  Bobby  and  I 
shouldn't  have  cared!  The  sergeant- 
major  was  right." 


$62  Soldiers  Three 

"  Not  going  out  this  journey,"  gasped 
Bobby,  as  he  was  lifted  from  the  doolie. 
**  Not  going  out  this  journey."  Then 
with  an  air  of  supreme  conviction:  "  I 
can't,  you  see." 

"  Not  if  I  can  do  anything!  "  said  the 
surgeon-major,  who  had  hastened  over 
Irom  the  mess  where  he  had  been  dining. 

He  and  the  regimental  surgeon  fought 
together  with  death  for  the  life  of  Bobby 
Wick.  Their  ministrations  were  inter- 
rupted by  a  hairy  apparition  in  a  blue-gray 
dressing  gown  who  stared  in  round-eyed 
horror  at  the  bed  and  cried :  "  O w,  my 
Gawd !  It  can't  be  'im !  "  until  an  indig- 
stant  hospital  orderly  whisked  him  away. 

If  care  of  man  and  desire  to  live  could 
foave  done  aught,  Bobby  would  have  been 
saved.  As  it  was,  he  made  a  fight  of  three 
days,  and  the  surgeon-major's  brow  un- 
creased.  "We'll  save  him  yet,"  he  said; 
and  the  surgeon,  who,  though  he  ranked 
with  the  captain,  had  a  very  youthful 
fieart,  went  out  upon  the  word  and  pranced 
joyously  in  the  mud. 

"  Not  going  out  this  journey,"  whis- 
pered Bobby  Wick,  gallantly,  at  the  end  of 
the  third  day. 

"  Bravo ! "  said  the  surgeon-major. 
*  That's  the  way  to  look  at  it,  Bobby." 

As  evening  fell  a  gray  shade  gathered 
round  Bobby's  mouth,  and  he  turned  his 


Only  A  Subaltern          163 

face  to  the  tent  wall  wearily.  The  sur- 
geon-major frowned. 

"  I'm  awfully  tired,"  said  Bobby,  very 
faintly.  "  What's  the  use  of  bothering  me 
with  medicine?  I  —  don't  —  want  —  it. 
Let  me  alone." 

The  desire  for  life  had  departed,  and 
Bobby  was  content  to  drift  away  on  the 
easy  tide  of  death. 

"  It's  no  good,"  said  the  surgeon-major. 
"  He  doesn't  want  to  live.  He's  meeting 
it,  poor  child."  And  he  blew  his  nose. 

Half  a  mile  away  the  regimental  band 
was  playing  the  overture  to  the  sing-song, 
for  the  men  had  been  told  that  Bobby  was 
out  of  danger.  The  clash  of  the  brass  and 
the  wail  of  the  horns  reached  Bobby's  ears. 

"  Is  there  a  single  joy  or  pain, 

That  I  should  never  kno— ow? 
You  do  not  love  me,  'tis  in  vain, 
Bid  me  good-bye  and  go  I  ** 

An  expression  of  hopeless  irritation 
crossed  the  boy's  face,  and  he  tried  to 
shake  his  head. 

The  surgeon-major  bent  down :  "  What 
is  it,  Bobby?" 

"Not  that  waltz,"  muttered  Bobby. 
"  That's  cur  own  —  our  very  ownest  own. 
.  .  .  Mummy  dear." 

With  this  oracular  sentence  he  sunk  into 
the  stupor  that  gave  place  to  death  early 
next  morning. 


164  Soldiers  Three 

Revere,  his  eyes  red  at  the  rims  and  his 
nose  very  white,  went  into  Bobby's  tent  to 
write  a  letter  to  Papa  Wick,  which  should 
bow  the  white  head  of  the  ex-commissioner 
of  Chota-Buldana  in  the  keenest  sorrow  of 
his  life.  Bobby's  little  store  of  papers  lay 
in  confusion  on  the  table,  and  among  them 
a  half-finished  letter.  The  last  sentence 
ran :  "  So  you  see,  darling,  there  is  really 
no  fear,  because  as  long  as  I  know  you 
care  for  me  and  I  care  for  you,  nothing 
can  touch  me." 

Revere  stayed  in  the  tent  for  an  hour. 
When  he  came  out,  his  eyes  were  redder 
than  ever. 


Private  Conklin  sat  on  a  turned-down 
bucket,  and  listened  to  a  not  unfamiliar 
tune.  Private  Conklin  was  a  convalescent 
and  should  have  been  tenderly  treated. 

"Ho!"  said  Private  Conklin.  "There's 
another  bloomin'  orf'cer  da — ed." 

The  bucket  shot  from  under  him,  and 
his  eyes  filled  with  a  smithyful  of  sparks. 
A  tall  man  in  a  blue-gray  bed-gown  was 
regarding  him  with  deep  disfavor. 

"  You  ought  to  take  shame  for  yourself, 
Conky!  Orf'cer?  Bloomin'  orf'cer?  I'll 
learn  you  to  misname  the  likes  of  'im. 
H  angel!  Bloomin'  hangell  That's  wot  'e 
is!" 


Only  A  Subaltern          165 

And  the  hospital  orderly  was  so  satisfied 
with  the  justice  of  the  punishment  that  he 
did  not  even  order  Private  Dormer  back 
to  his  cot 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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